What could turn
My words
To embers
Before they
Reach your
Hearth.

Last night
A dream
In the Himalayas.
A monk standing
Next to me…

Each morning,
As I sit down to write
I act as if the fabric
Of reality could bend.

Beauty comes from bowing to the naked moment, before you can say a thing. This empty page needs your faithful attention, otherwise these words become untrue.

“The world is naked, Stripped even of itself.
If this is true, what’s left?”