The words are what happen

when I’m sliced across the middle

and sand falls out of my body.


They swirl and bound

and disperse,

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

like sand.


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

and speak.