where names fail
currents
The river carried everything we didn’t say,
without distinction.
Sea stopped the voices of stars.
Patterns sealed in iron.
Inside, the floor felt it first.
Rock striking bone.
It was written.
Nothing seen.
Silence breathed heavily,
and nothing answered back.
The memory of future dreams
stroking your pulse.
closer.
The river said,
Footfall. Salt. Heat.
Footfall. Salt. Heat.
Mountains never learned our names,
only how long.
(Old English)
Wearmþ þolianð þone wæġ.
Swīġe lengra bīþ þonne þōht.
Warmth survives weight.
Silence outlives thought.
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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.
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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
Whoa, Sensei... it feels like the river is counting while everyone else stays quiet. The repeats made my brain slow down, and that last line hit like time shrugging. Small words, big weight you got there.
Mark, through this piece, you feel a meditation on what survives us...not names or words, but movement, weight, and silence. I love how the river remembers everything without remembering us, as if time keeps the rhythm, not the story. The closing thought, that silence outlives thought, lingers long after the poem ends.