Salt Before Language
Residue
She came to see the sea,
but the sea saw she.
salt found her lips
before language could be
At the edge of the sea,
breathing brine and ease,
her chest learning rhythm
from the patient breeze.
The sea she chased
wasn’t blue — but bold,
a loosened knowing
she could almost hold.
Sea said: I keep what you won’t say.
She said: Your silence tastes this way.
Each wave returned
what tried to release,
a tongue-tied truth
it couldn’t quite cease.
Not spoken back,
not set at ease —
just held between
the mouth and the sea
ㅤㅤ
For those who choose to go a little deeper,
paid subscribers get:
a monthly essay where I take recent work apart properly — drafts, cuts, false starts, and why things were kept or thrown away
access to a Guided Noticing for those who join during this window — slow, attentive readings rather than critique
occasional paid-only pieces, and some posts released early before becoming public
Everything I publish publicly stays public.
This is about making space for slower work, and for people who want to stay close to how it’s made.
If you’ve been hovering, this is a good moment to step in.
I’m always open to thoughtful writing collaborations.
Other prose and poems.
Nothing truly leaves — it just changes how it stays.
If something moved in you — a silence that whispered — I’d love to hear it below, or in my DM’s.
All artwork courtesy of NDjin Gallery
Beautiful
You had me the moment the sea came in ☺️ This sea feels like a keeper of salt and silence, with its waves returning suspended truths. Glad I finally had time to catch up on your recent work and find this one 💙