We make art out of our loss.

Death is dancing me ragged.

It is a paradox in the contemporary world that in our desire for peace we must willingly give ourselves to struggle.

Poetry has its own laws speaking for the life of the planet. It is a language that wants to bring back together what the other words have torn apart.

Poetry is a string of words that parades without a permit.

Between earth and earth's atmosphere, the amount of water remains constant; there is never a drop more, never a drop less. This is a story of circular infinity, of a planet birthing itself.

We make art out of our loss.