Poems

Lanterns

We fold the night into boats of flame,
and send them down the river, slow.
Each spark a name we dare not say,
each ripple something we let go.

The Mapmaker

I draw the roads I haven't walked,
ink finding paths my feet will learn.
The paper knows what I do not:
every border waits its turn.

After Rain

The city steams like something wild,
neon wicks the puddles clean.
We stand beneath a borrowed sky,
and say the quiet things we mean.