Poems, written slowly.

I did not choose poetry so much as notice, one ordinary evening, that I had already been practicing it for years — in the pauses I left in conversation, in the letters I rewrote and never sent, in the particular attention I paid to my grandmother's hands.

My work is concerned with what survives translation — between languages, between generations, between the person who lived a memory and the person who later has to write it down. I am drawn to silence not as an absence but as a form: the pause before a word is exactly as meaningful as the word.

I write in the small hours, usually by hand, usually more than once. This site holds what I have decided is finished — which is another way of saying: what I have decided to let go of.