The Dream of New Zealand

Photo by Adam Edgerton on Unsplash

This newsletter is about the process, about the imperfections, about the halting and awkward steps that come before you actually make a finished poem. I say this mostly to remind myself — because today’s breath is clearly and openly not finished. It’s a fragment, definitely jagged around the edges. And this is why I’m here: To share the early stage, slightly ugly bits. To remove the mystique around poetry so hopefully you know you are all capable of the magic.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedStand at the place where the fjord touches landhands outstretched to walls of sold rockblinded by the spray of the waves.It doesn't matter how I got here -- this is a dream of New Zealand --mind conjuring something out of mind. Blink and stand on top of the steep rock wallsas the sun dries my salt-dusted skin.Exhale and sit at a small desk in a small home window open to air tinged with ocean,perfectly still