If this is the world, I think I could get used to it. This feeling of nothing to hide from, no hint of violence.

I am a lover of music, movement, and embodiment. I love the unarticulated and uncomfortable, the sound of a pause right after a question.

I wanted to plant a garden with her, but her winter was my spring & none of the days moved slowly enough to catch.

"Truth is paradox," says Henry Miller. I choose to embrace both the dark and the light… the creative tension of the two.

My best mistakes could hear me for what I was. Through a stereo, over a headrest, I was so seen, so possible.

We need to talk about this time of day—half dawn—when the ethereal is that gasp between defibrillator compressions.

Dear songbirds, the gold-sing-warm submission period for our fourth issue, grazioso, has come to an end.

When she was younger, my grandmother danced cour for a local ballet company.

I meant melody & strings, rhapsody & joy. Like wall barley, crumbling naked at a touch. An open sky.

I hear melancholy in it as well as contentment, but different listeners will hear different things.