Unencumbered of soul, we tread these dunes like spiders. I have tasted of the sands of bitterness, and found them to be sweet. I have...

Love is a desolate city. Tumbleweed and oil spills in streets, the gasoline of plenty drained of itself. I have walked its lanes and...

My grandfather is telling them of the trees, how they come into this world like tongues of fire, ready to consume and eclipse, subsume,...

That is the colour of anguish, flat and impenetrable, cannot be reduced any further than the nothing it has become, in total need of...

O Lord, conquer my blood; and the colourless fragrance of despair rise into the desolate clouds and become part of them. Absolve me of my...

I. Pine leaves flow through my soul. Verdance. II. I spat out the unobtrusive seed of tender blood orange grown from a yard and softened...

Welcome to a sanctified place was in essence what they said to me, not with their hands or their lips, but their twinkling eyes, the...

Whatever, love, I wove once in the yard, whatever I decided to forsake in order to receive from up above such blessings as this dormant...

The coffee best with little dash of cream, the sunlight best when it is but one beam that pierces through the shadows and ignites the...

…the dawn-birds in their harmony with me; serenity in synchronicity of Nature, with its buzzards and its bees, its wasps—they all are...