A wonderful image from ‘Edition Poshette’ that I picked up in Florence and tucked into my journal. I’ve always imagined our thoughts as poems that swirl around us like auras or ornamentation, the words merging in the spaces between us to create serendipitous trellises of meaning where one person ends and the other begins; line breaks of the skin. We are made of words: dreams, prayers, curses, songs, poems, inner voices, inner censors.
