Native in the hearts of your children you are.
Embedded deeply in their soil, spawning fertile seeds only to bid farewell too soon.
Your roots firmly rooted,
solidifying your solid stance. Imprinted your features in all of us, all just sketches of the you you used to be.
They tell tales of an antique casanova who once was,
a man who loved dearly for an eternity that lasted a few heartbeats.
I used to draw you in the margins of my notepad,
pretending I remembered more than your smile.
But I was fond of the man who took part in my creation,
the man whose name I carry with pride,
the man who gave me a family,
the man my mother fell for.
Words I never uttered come close to mind,
I'd mean them if I said them out loud.
But here, among bent, wilting trees you lay, forever.
We're standing on the ground reserved for souls bygone, transfusing memories of you in one beautiful picture.


We love you,
I love you


Here's to you, father.

**18/02/1961--01/10/2009

cutting down a tree
changing the shape of the sky
burning wood smoking clouds
flames warming the world
melting ice increasing depth
of the sea. Wet feet lost land
more rain more trees cut
down to keep warm

It's cathartic for me
to tear a paper
into million bits
and offer it to the winds...

That's not why I gave you my heart.
Was it your catharsis...

the curves on my
frame are the lines of
a sketch bent slightly
too far; i'm an awkward
angle in geometry
class no one dares to
find and this tiny black

dress is revealing too
much in too little
time. the whispers of
crisscrossed marked
thighs and starry knees
swirl before me and i'm

gone, disconnected. they say
black is slimming but
i've never felt more
potent and i hope
to god no one can see
right through me.

formal dances aren't
ideal for the invisible.

Moving
Doing nothing

Laundry
Dishes
Counters
Showers

Doing nothing
Soon to be doing something

Listening
Seeing
Writing
Guitar