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    • Jul 7, 2023

language

I want to tell you a secret

I write perhaps one page in a year, maybe less

I don't know the cadence of my life

except that there is an ebb and flow

and I don't know what comes up at shore, or when


language is difficult for me

is that irony? words are painful for me to carry


especially when

there's nothing

and no way to articulate

most things


they applaud the book but few know how to

comfort someone mourning

it is hard to plant flowers in absence

maybe all of this is just form, just freedom to

be

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zhēn

how can I expect the city to show me its true colors when I can't even be honest before the city I must be afraid of falling apart Softly treading worn paths -written in Taiwan 1/2023

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