“ My words are the garment of what I shall never be Like the tucked sleeve of a one-armed boy. ”
A garden is made of hope.
~ W.s. Merwin
Separation Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.
part memory part distance remainingmine in the ways that I learn to miss you
Modern poetry, for me, began not in English at all but in Spanish, in the poems of Lorca.
