The Ancient Greek Δ is our capital D

In geography,

they taught us that a river delta is named for its yawning shape.

In science,

we learned it as change.

How fitting
that every drop meeting stream meeting river
all pass through the final transition
just before dissolution
to Ocean.

Linguistics of a temporal language family

The languages of Waiting and Longing are similar in that their only word is time.

The difference is that waiting uses stress and tense;

but longing,

only tone.

One is a standard language of science,
the other is common to poets.


living stories

We are stories.

We live within a world of narratives.
Those that cannot find or make a place for themselves in the human arc of memory,
wander forlorn ghosts.
They are lost. And, we are haunted. Until we find a fit.

Storytelling is survival.

To become a storyteller
is to make for yourself, and for others, a home in the imagined palace.
Our bodies may one day rest in the earth,
but only when settled in stories do we all rest in peace.



Sometimes you're Theseus

Sometimes, his ship.

Sometimes you're Magellan,

and sometimes, the Victoria.


Learning to walk

In the beginning
The land fell away on both sides

I walked a tightrope
I watched a horizon

This is the only way not to fall:
to put each step exactly where it goes and nowhere else.

The waves rose up. The air stormed.
only one put to place each foot.

The stars did not waver
Then, all was calm around me
The storm was yet outside
just distracting: a horizontal pillar of cloud and of fire
I walked through the Eye
until placing one foot in front of the next was second nature.

Then the rope became an open field
After all, with practice, what's the difference when regardless of terrain, you have only two feet and one path?

Speed skaters know the only place for each narrow blade is beneath the center of gravity.
We balance on an intersection with reality.
This walking is a meditation.
It no longer matters whether I follow the thread or it follows me.
From outside, it looks precarious.

I remember a chess player stating that he thinks only one move ahead - the best move.
The field may be wide.
The path is narrow.
And in each moment, only one step.
I find this comforting.
Even liberating.


Ninh Binh weather report: days so dark it's like the world didn't want to wake up

For the last two days,
the Earth has seemed unwilling
to open its eyes.

Thank you

Giving me a better chance to dwell in an empty cave within fog
and notice what patterns arise from the mist

The trivial perception:
mapping me to myself.

(I've found you in the past.
Our lives will be a hide and seek.

Please, remember the many tiny lights, and gratitude for what reflects them)


A memory of unseen gritty streets

Now how did he put it...

It may have been a gritty Shanghai night,
unrinsed rain coating the city streets.
I think he was asking, why choose? Why couldn't you love everyone?

The one you love to talk with for hours
The one you are sleeping with
The one you wish you could wake up beside

I may have tilted my head under the streetlights.
We'd been talking for hours, walking along our own maps.
I balanced empty beer cans like offerings on windowsills, utility boxes, dented cars.

I loved him with my very veins,
crisscrossing like streets
under hidden stars.


Wanted: Found Travel Collage

I watch
I learn
I travel
I wander through landscapes of unperceived chaos,
mapping the metaphors,
patching together the photos like on the Truman Show,
looking up at the sky like it was a throneroom; as if the stars were your mirror.

Sharing my collage, asking everyone I see,
"Have you seen me?" I'm lost.

I'm looking for a girl
who is making a collage.

She left, you see, because she knows that we can only percieve
what we already understand.

She's looking for me
Trying to understand everything
so that she'll be able to see.

And, I miss her.