poetry

My first language, as a writer.
Before analysis, before ambition—there were lines.
Not to explain, but to evoke.
Not to persuade, but to resonate.

I wrote poetry through college and imagined I always would.
Then other voices—more certain, more rewarded—took over for a while.

Now I return by feel.
Short forms. Found rhythms. Fleeting images.
A word’s forgotten root. A half-heard phrase.
An overheard moment that opens a door.

I don’t write poems to finish thoughts, but to leave space in them.
To let language murmur or flicker.
To listen for what moves beneath what’s said.

poetry index (coming soon)

This space will gather links to individual poems—some part of larger sheaves like Echoes from Below, others standing on their own. New work will be added over time, as it appears.

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