The Art of Wonder

A Brown University/Rhode Island School of Design Dual-Degree student (BRDD, 2017), artist, writer, urbanist, and explorer of the world dedicated to finding Wondrous things. Art, design, science, literature and the connections between them. For my original artwork see

Posts tagged poem

Aug 4

States of Matter

Glass is a fluid disguised as a solid

As it sits pretty in window frames

And is molded into bottles and vases

And animal figurines

It is slowly settling. Over years and years

It is called by gravity’s sirens.

Downward silent teardrops moving at glacial pace.

Knowing this,

We traded ice for water—

The same two elements

And hydrogen bonds

Warmer to the touch

But harder to grasp.

We reasoned

The sensation of water

Was worth

Letting it slip through cupped hands.

“It’s not humankind after all
nor is it culture
that limits us.
It is the vastness
we do not enter.
It is the stars
we do not let own us.”
Culture and the Universe, Simon J. Ortiz 

“A pinwheel in the heart spins off oxygen like sparks
people singing anthems try to cover with their hands.
A pure Indonesia under my pillow opens its markets
every night to music, caged birds bought to be released.”
Fragile Acts, Allan Peterson 

“In spite of the overwhelming reliability of things,
the wind making rivulets on my sleeve same as window glass,
the same rocks shaped by the same reasons on Mars,
I am like a cricket singing to another sore voice. I hear it,
but faithful to symmetry, I don’t move closer.
It may not be singing to me. Movement may lead to dissolution.
Stars could make up new animals. The dragonfly
might chase the swallow as it did today in warning.
I am living at the edge of light looking out
over water that touches Mexico. The edge of the continent
holds hands with inlets and I mention them over and over
as if no one listened the last time. The common insists.
Lynx and orchids for some. Underwinter life below the ice.
From here I wave to you like polishing the air.”
“The Common Insists”, from Fragile Acts by Allan Peterson 

Jul 16


Your mother’s house

Is bigger than it looks

From the outside.

In it, you’ve built cities

From matchboxes

And drawn maps

With what you thought

Was your father’s fountain pen.

The matches─

For years you lit candles

With them, flames

That I would one day

Find and follow.

For years

I smelled faint smoke drifting

And somehow

Heard the sound of ashes falling.

At first

I walked into wildfires

And arrived, uninvited,

At campfire songs, not knowing,

But looking for you.

When I found you

You were reading from the book

Of the only stories I knew.

Aug 23


Read More

Jul 31
“WHEN I heard the learn’d astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.”
Walt Whitman, lamenting a failure of scientific communication.

Jun 28
“And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.”
Walt Whitman, “A Noiseless Patient Spider”, Leaves of Grass: “Death-bed” Edition

Jun 22

I’m reconstructing the night sky.
Do not be afraid when you are
Enveloped by the dark.
It is only me,
Disassembling the constellations
And shrouding the stars in black,
So they can be pulled by threads I’ve unraveled
From fine dark wool and
Made to spell out the time we lost.

Jun 8

from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass


from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass

(via dualnationality-deactivated2013)

May 6
“Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves,
As only souls understand souls.”
Walt Whitman, “Perfections”, Leaves of Grass

Apr 26
“There will be time
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.”
“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot (via innovatus-et-felicem)

Apr 20

You used to bind my heart with baker’s twine,

And write poems on my skin in braille.

You are now an empty chair and

As I write our story in the sand,

There are sea-glass ellipses

Where your name should be.