The words are what happen
when I’m sliced across the middle
and sand falls out of my body.
They swirl and bound
until they settle on the ground,
gentling moving with the wind.
Until then, they jump like memories
that pull apart and come back together–
quick– before they disintegrate in your hands
But to write
is to wring out all the words inside you.
They belong on the ground by the sea.
And if you look up, you realize,
you have hollowed out and made room for the stars.
-World Poetry Day 2018
we could jump in the waves
or wade at the shore,
dive into the ocean
or stay land-bound and bored.
but i never want to have to wonder
what you’re thinking,
what you’re creating
inside that imagination of yours.
share with me. build with me.
because when the tides rush in,
when they arise and collapse
and swirl at our feet,
all to wash away, return, and repeat,
we’ll be fully ready. you see,
we know the secret of the waters,
of the unpredictable surges
and watered-down speech:
we let the words rise up themselves