 I'm really happy to be here, and thank you, Shizu, for your vision and for making your vision happen. I'm going to share, I'm going to read this one poem, see if something else, I have enough time to read another one. It's called You Say Goodbye. You say goodbye, I say goodbye, I say goodbye. Then a fissure, a fissure splits open. Here, I stay, open to you. We've been strangers in a way. Without a pen, my bowl is empty. Your bowl has no room, as it once had. Even the colors cannot shudder, the graffiti scrawl. You and I once painted, in our sophomore dreams. Fades and softens, those goodbyes, who made them? Where are they going? Where are they cracking? Where are they unlocking? Where are they wandering? This is called under construction. Who knows the sting of a woman, summoned to be small? The drill next door punctuates first light until a hum breaks. Misunderstood the dead rat on the sidewalk. Under construction these letters of debt fatten. Apply clove oil will lighten dark spots. Our heroes killed, toughen up any loose ends budding, fleeing when he speaks, Vietnamese men work hard. Next door, Quan Yin on my windowsill. Pinken clouds park across the chain link fence. And I feel freedom. Tai Chi brings as supper cools the shimmer of our girl gang. Honey, coffee, first blush. It is spine and pluck falling for one liners. And my heart is papel picado, hung across his eyelids. I want to be with, carry this for fertility, carry this dusk in back pocket. I find his letter crumpled, things we cannot swallow. Swords, carbon, jade, blueprints for Saturday. Thank you.