My grandfather is the lone doctor in this mountain town. The day is infinitely / chambered into fifteen-minute intervals in his clinic.

After she left the living room, he glanced at the wall clock. He had two hours to fulfill the mission before the dawn call to prayer.

Maybe people box for the same reasons they join Sufi orders. To transcend their mortal bodies’ smallness. Find discipline, community, purpose.

My work can fall into the surreal, like a dream logic, but I feel that my work is most effective, or the strongest, when logic is applied to illogical situations.

My language has no borders. It tunneled through the floor / of heaven, humming, wet with sinew and syllable. Barakah.

Talia reminds me the Match-Hunt is a chance to start a more authentic life, one far away from the fake glitz of rehearsals, wardrobe fittings, meet-and-greets, and shows.