To say something is to lose it a little. And to find it, differently. Every act of saying leaves something behind — the image loses some of its silence, the feeling loses some of its wildness. On Saying lives inside that loss — and finds it generative. What language cannot hold, it gestures toward. What it cannot name, it circles. The closest we can get is also, always, enough.
-
Wild God
on the Nepal–Tibet border flash floods, August 2026
I witnessed the wild god in high-resolutionsometimes captured on shaky cell phones the owner clearly running,
others on sophisticated drone cameras (Why were they in the sky, then?) -
Whose Fourth
Invocation · Reckoning · Unresolving · Re-weaving
Independence Day, and the fireworks
will not ask permission of the sky,or the dog shaking under the bed,
or the child who cowers in the cornerfrom too much noise, too much glory,
too much look what we won. -
Stitched, not sealed
A heart that stays willing to open
I imagine a beautiful porcelain vase
falling to the ground,
shattering.I pick up the shards –
as many as I can,
on a clean white napkin.
- The poem — weekly, primary, ritual
- The lyric essay — longer, essayistic, unhurried
- The sermon — spoken and written, liturgical
- The paradoxical blessing
- The ekphrastic poem — written in response to an image
- The mythopoetic reflection — figures from story and myth
- The political witness
- The guest voice — occasional, curated, community
- The liturgy and the prayer
Shadow Knows the Way: On negotiated ground, shadow's dignity, and the discipline of staying awake
The Forbidden Notes: what waits at the threshold
Wabi sabi: cultivating suppleness in a tautly polarized world