“I stalk certain words…                                                             Imagine by Rebecca Jones
I catch them in mid-flight, as they buzz past,
I trap them, clean them, peel them,
I set myself in front of the dish,
they have a crystalline texture to me,
vibrant, ivory, vegetable, oily,
like fruit, like algae, like agates, like olives…
I stir them, I shake them, I drink them,
I gulp them down, I mash them, I garnish them…
I leave them in my poem like stalactites,
like slivers of polished wood, like coals,
like pickings from a shipwreck, gifts from the waves…
Everything exists in the word.”

~Pablo Nerada