Stopping by the Baobab trees

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A year of scents in Oaxaca

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Meditations from the Argentine wilderness

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The Sky Falls on Gaza

The sky is not the sky in Gaza—it is a hand that drops fire,a shadow that swallows the sun. The night is not the night in Gaza—it is sirens and silence,a mother whispering names of the lost. The streets are not streets in Gaza—they are graves waiting to be...

Maps of Blood

They draw and redraw maps with blood,Carving borders where rivers once ran free,Splitting tongues, sundering names,Turning soil sacred with memory to dust. Steel-tipped quills scratch on parchment,While swords etch deeper lines in flesh.They measure land in miles and...