From bristly foliage
you fell
complete, polished wood, gleaming mahogany,
as perfect
as a violin newly
born of the treetops,
that falling
offers its sealed-in gifts,
the hidden sweetness
that grew in secret
amid birds and leaves,
a model of form,
kin to wood and flour,
an oval instrument
that holds within it
intact delight, an edible rose.
In the heights you abandoned
the sea-urchin burr
that parted its spines
in the light of the chestnut tree;
through that slit
you glimpsed the world,
birds
bursting with syllables,
starry
dew
below,
the heads of boys
and girls,
grasses stirring restlessly,
smoke rising, rising.
You made your decision,
chestnut, and leaped to earth,
burnished and ready,
firm and smooth
as the small *******
of the islands of America.
You fell,
you struck
the ground,
but
nothing happened,
the grass
still stirred, the old
chestnut sighed with the mouths
of a forest of trees,
a red leaf of autumn fell,
resolutely, the hours marched on
across the earth.
Because you are
only
a seed,
chestnut tree, autumn, earth,
water, heights, silence
prepared the germ,
the floury density,
the maternal eyelids
that buried will again
open toward the heights
the simple majesty of foliage,
the dark damp plan
of new roots,
the ancient but new dimensions
of another chestnut tree in the earth.

On the mountain
I am the last kissed goodbye
by the sun

My divine love, so unconditional and pure,

A truth eternal, steady and sure.

There’s no need to change, to hide or pretend—

You are enough; there’s no need to bend.

I know fear whispers softly, its shadow unfurls,

It’s casting doubt in love’s precious pearls.

The mind replays what the heart has known,

A cycle of lessons, seeds once sown.

You cling to her like I clung to the vampire,

A fleeting comfort, an ember’s fire.

Seeking to fill what feels like lack,

So afraid of solitude’s cold; the fear keeps pulling you back.

I know this place, this hesitant ache,

The ego’s hunger, the heart’s mistake.

It whispers softly, “You’ll never be enough,”

So we have always settled for fleeting, afraid of love’s rough.

But love’s greatest test is not in the fight—

It’s in the courage to step into the light.

The toxic was “easy”, familiar, and clear.

Patterns repeated, year after year,

Familiar ghosts, always so near.

Comfort in chaos, masking the fear.


We choose the “easy”, the well-known pain,

Hoping for joy, but finding only strain.

We cling to the past, though we yearn for change,

Fearing the unknown, reluctant to range.

The familiar wounds, though deep, are safe;

So we self-sabotage love, fearing it’ll break.


Our hearts know better, yet our minds rebel,

Telling stories where only darkness dwells.

But growth begins where comfort ends—

In the unknown, where true love mends.

We search for solace in what we’ve known,

Afraid to leave what we’ve outgrown.

Though our hearts long for something more,

We continue to hesitate, fearing what’s in store.


The past’s grip is a haunting guide,

Whispering doubts that we try to hide.
But love’s power is found when we finally let go,

When we dare to trust and let ourselves grow.

It will be a whole new world, with you by my side,

Where love flows freely, no secrets to hide.

Like Aladdin and Jasmine, hearts bound in grace,

Their souls connected in an enchanted space.

She saw the goodness, the strength in his eyes,

Beyond his station, beyond the disguise.

He saw her spirit, fierce and untamed,

Not just a princess, but a woman unchained.

On a magic carpet, their worlds intertwined,

No walls to divide, no hearts left behind.

So rise, my phoenix, from the ashes of pain,

Burning away what no longer remains.

The chains of old stories, the doubts that bind,

Are fuel for your rebirth, and with peace you’ll find

Mindful whispers and tender care;

Self-love blooms in the open air.


You are worthy—right now, as you are—

A radiant soul, your own guiding star.
Our union can heal what solitude hides,

Opening spaces where real love resides.

No need to change, just let love flow,

For in this moment, you already glow.


Together we learn, and together we will rise,

Healing the wounds and claiming the prize.

Two phoenixes reborn from love’s holy fire,

Awakening truths and lifting us higher.

Do not stand
          By my grave, and weep.
     I am not there,
          I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
     Do not stand
          By my grave, and cry—
     I am not there,
          I did not die.
— Clare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934