We weep
For at the tundra of dreams
We are freed
Recent posts
thrice
I traveled through the veil of the water thrice: once, blindly, to a stormy sea; twice, to my mother and a town that just made me cry (so I left again
Chrysanthemum
Do you feel it still? After the death of us, I made this city walkable, I pulled smog from the suburb air and packed it into debris cubes for your grave. You smothered me, layered down in carbon cloth, spun me in street threads beside the melting sun before your bedtime, but after the blaze…
and you weren’t there
Maybe the library was a god who died without my belief to sustain it—or, my belief plus my proximity because I’d always believed
Quick links:
To Herald a Dawn trilogy
Pretty poetry
My stance on generative AI
Articles on autism and writing tips
Graveyard of Lullabies/Death Magic Duology
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