I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that … Continue reading If You Forget Me (Pablo Neruda, 1952)
Whipt hillside separates the summit from the residences plummeting to the highways and the bay. Down by the bay, where the watermelons grow. So many surprise views in this city; so many ways to get lost I cannot decide which one was ours. (May 2015) Continue reading Secrets, Bernal Heights
breaking for the winter middle of april, split life hands in cups of tea a smile imprinted in foam letting you know i learned more about my father today. giving away the pain more everyday, less inside me broken. this morning came + went a hot red soup and me alone; you alone. the days … Continue reading April in Chicago
everything is right here. i repeat this to myself on the back of your motorcycle as we fly at 60 miles an hour over the illuminated highways and quiet evening streets of Oakland, the city edging the familiar waters where my family’s american story began. i repeat this mantra silently, hopefully. for as the seconds … Continue reading Everything is Right Here（仕方がない）
水 when your name is written in nine strokes and i can feel your smile through your cool words, anxious sweat manifests into falling nodes time-stamped upon a screen that pools and wells up into an unfamiliar warmth in my chest. 새벽마다 you write me only after the sun has gone down. when it’s quiet, … Continue reading 3 AM 베개
on a wet early spring day i crossed the dewy path to a furnace-warmed café. on the cherry blossom-strewn ground i caught sight of my reflection in the park. i heard saxophones, pianos, flutes, sultry brass and heartbending notes that soar and dive like the weight of a frost-dampened love letter precariously hanging on the … Continue reading 白川公園 | Shirakawakōen
since i met you, i can’t hear music without thinking of you. like a record spinning at just a half step slower, we see, we hear, we feel just a bit more as if we can change the tempo of passing time with a glass of liquid. we came to each other on all days … Continue reading Pockets
