If writing is a form of exile then what is beautiful must be that which echoes something from the land I came from, some familiar line or phrase borrowed from the language of loss and memory. Whether that land is a place in time, in the world, or in some buried emotional reality, it is a meeting ground for many people. It must be a universal language. Something that lies at the root of what we all long to say, but do not know how.

Neil Aitken. Three Takes on an Aesthetic and a Synthesis (excerpt)

His lines are a measure of control and verve, where you will find edges of violent beauty not hardly seen in a writer so young.  In a world where "...swimmers drown/ in the same moment/ a pair of jacaranda trees/ set suddenly aflame," your shortened breaths will tell you this is a poet to watch, a poet who, in turn, will make you watch this world more carefully.

—Aimee Nezhukumatathil, author of Miracle Fruit