The sign outside the chapel will bear three iterations of your name. All of which, even the romanized versions, carry with them the home we left when the sun was setting in our boyhood.

Be Still for Dear Life

for, after the pod was pricked, I was wedged in banana leaves; for I shifted and spiraled in the dark as I was whisked to what I only knew was away; for, in secret, thousands of us were sailed across the sea, where the air grew too hot, too cold...

Touch Me Not

Six years have passed since you last read a physical book. You wouldn’t have grabbed one if you hadn’t grown sick of four black bezels enclosing much of what you looked at.

Alone with a Book

The sea to me doesn’t so much roar as it rattles or hisses. I’m reminded of the noise I hear when I unfold my blanket, tuck myself into bed and shift about, wrinkling the sheets.

The Call of Water

He points the chisel on the stone and swings the mallet at it,
pounding until marble slants, curves,
resembling locks of hair

Mei

Selected work