A Poem
On a Memory of Dissociation
The tide drew in.We lit a small fire.…Too many quiet things.But I—I could not tell her.The flames dimmed.Ash scented the air.The wind outside had stilled.And in our hearts—only soft, gray noise.
Read the full poemDAZAIOSAMU
I write poetry, and build things in public. This room keeps the words I choose to preserve, with some space left for silence.
A Poem
The tide drew in.We lit a small fire.…Too many quiet things.But I—I could not tell her.The flames dimmed.Ash scented the air.The wind outside had stilled.And in our hearts—only soft, gray noise.
Read the full poem