Description of the Book:
 
Poems are not the shells we find on the beach. The ones we seek out and put in our pockets and then on our bookshelves, amidst the other pretty knick-knacks; the ones that speak on our behalf to comment on our character or divulge a part of our personality to those we welcome in.

The poems that catch your eye — that you put in your heart and never need to dust off — are not sought out. They are not the prettiest things we come by as we walk with our heads downcast, for beauty is often hard to find in this state. Sometimes, poetry is the sand that gets stuck to us throughout our excursion. Accidentally, but with intention. Garnered by need, not by cupidity. It gets into places you’d never suspect and remains there in stubbornness, as if to say it is at last where it belongs. It will linger in you and remind you of the time, like the sand in your car. Like the sand in your shoes.

This sand is old. It is the result of many abrasions. It is eroded but not yet polished. Tumbled, but not lost.

It is not yet done experiencing the thrashes of life and will surely encounter many more.
Until one day, it is so fine,
It is dust.

If it fits in your shoe,
Take it with you.