There is no smell in all the world,
None in the North or South,
None in the East or West,
None in the lowest places,
None on the highest peaks,
Like that smell filling the air,
Filling the house,
Filling my senses,
That smell of spaghetti frying,
Frying in the morning light,
The smell so different from when it was first cooked,
Moving the senses,
Moving the mind,
Anticipation in scent,
The sauce sizzling,
Changing,
Changing in the frying pan,
As the noodles turn crisper,
Crisper,
Crisp,
With that crispness like no other,
The noodles,
No longer white,
Made yellow,
Yellow from the sauce,
Fried onto them,
One with them,
Flavours seeping in,
And the sauce,
Orange now,
Red orange but clearly orange,
No longer the bright red it was when it entered the pan,
And as the sauce and noodles change,
Reach that perfect point,
The smell just right,
The colour just right,
The texture just right,
The sizzling reaching the perfect crescendo,
Then, and only then,
The spaghetti no longer stirring,
Evened out,
Temperature lowered,
And carefully,
Slowly,
To keep them on the top,
The eggs break,
White running among the noodles,
Filling the gaps,
Turning from clear to white as they hit the hot pan,
Yolks floating on top where they should be,
The perfect drop,
And the odours as the white changes,
Filling the air with new scents,
Mingling with the ones already present,
And then the salt, disappearing on the surface,
The black pepper,
Black flects,
Scattered evenly,
Perfectly,
The smell of pepper joining the egg and spaghetti,
And a splash of Tobacco Sauce across the whole,
That hot smell,
That bright red colour,
And the silver lid slips on,
Over the top,
Hiding,
Protecting,
Cooking the whole,
Until it is done,
And the lid set aside,
The whole onto a plate,
Perfect to the senses,
The smell,
The colours,
The texture,
Perfect,
And the first bight,
Heavenly,
Like nothing else on earth,
Almost sweet,
But still savoury,
Strange to those knowing bowled pasta,
Strange to those knowing simmered sauce,
Strange to those knowing fried eggs,
But the tastes,
Perfect,
Blended,
Strange but familiar,
Many memories,
Images,
Experiences,
All coming together like the different parts of the fried spaghetti,
And the fork through the yoke,
As it runs down,
Bright yellow into orange and red and black and white,
Perfect,
Amazing,
Done.

~The Smell of Fried Spaghetti by Bethany Davis, June 19, 2015

What beauty shines in dappled light,
In misty morning air?
What beauty's cloaked in foggy mist,
Waiting to be shone?
The light it changes endlessly,
No view is ever twice,
Sun and rain and mist and fog,
The ever changing light.
The hills they roll in endless clefts,
Valleys and ridges roll,
Endless land that ever goes,
From dawn way out to dusk.
A home it is this peaceful place,
If only for a time,
The comfort of the love here found,
That makes a house a home.
Horses graze to their delight,
The moisture fine with them.
The rabbits hope, the birds all sing,
The magpie glides around.
Few have seen the morning light,
Out shining through the mist,
Few there are that know delight,
Of ranch's peacefulness.
Here I sit in morning light,
The peace it fills my soul.
Refreshing rain and my delight,
Out here far from home.
What beauty shines in dappled light,
In misty morning air?
What beauty's cloaked in foggy mist,
Waiting to be shone?
The light it changes endlessly,
No view is ever twice,
Sun and rain and mist and fog,
The ever changing light.

~Dappled Light by Bethany Davis, June 7, 2014

Banana taffy,
Hard and smooth,
Like a banana cream pie,
But not as rich.

Banana milk,
So playful smooth,
Like liquid laughter,
Like dancing mirth.

The fruit's so different,
Not rich or smooth,
A different taste,
A different love.

This fake banana,
Makes me spin,
Dancing like a child,
So young, so free.

Frustration
Do this, do that
No choice
Do it now
No control
A child
Directed
Dictated
Asked but no choice
Who am I?
Child or slave?
Dependent
Longing
To do what I want
To decide when
For freedom
To say yes
To gladly choose
To serve by choice
Willingly
Because I want to
Not required to
Decide when
Decide what
Ability to say no
Ability to say yes
Frustration

A square, molded piece,
Perfect in dimensions,
Perfect in form.

White perfect chocolate,
Red specks of candy,
Pretty contrast.

A taste of chocolate,
A nibble, a bite,
Joy realized.

Soft creamy chocolate,
Crunchy candy bits,
Perfect Contrast.

Nibble by Nibble,
Bit by bit,
So fine.

The flavour remaining,
White chocolate,
Laced with mint.

The fuzzy purple blanket under me,
Like fur caressing my skin,
So soft, so sensual, like a soft massage.

Soft black fuzzy pillow under my head,
Like a cloud, soft but supporting,
Cradling my head in its arms.

Colourful Tinkerbell blanket covering me,
Soft like velvet, rubbing my bare skin,
A cocoon containing me, to change to a butterfly.

Tight thong embracing me,
Holding that precious centre,
My well of nectar, held in a sweet embrace.

Soft cami covering my *******, my tummy, my back,
Soft on my skin, like a hug, a firm embrace,
Containing my, constraining me, freeing me.

Tight shorts hugging my hips,
My *****, my thighs, Peacock, teal, jade,
Bright and conforming to my curves.

All the textures surrounding me, holding me,
All bring contentment, like heaven,
The textures of my second skin of sleep.

Darkness, shadows,
Twisted thorns,
Twisted trunks,
Like hunched hags,
Crooked trolls,
Thorns and vines,
Twisted,
Intertwining,
Like a maze,
A thicket,
All around,
Casting shadows,
Darkness,
Creepy,
Thorns piercing,
Blood black in the moonlight,
Shining through the branches,
Tree trunks,
Vines and thorns,
Stillness,
But movement,
Half seen,
Small,
Creeping,
Spiders,
Mice,
Rodents,
Lizards,
Life hidden,
Forgotten,
Unknown,
Where only barrenness was known,
A creature,
Sitting,
Watching,
Looking up,
Through slitted eyes,
Like a frog,
But grey,
Something from deep within,
Clinging to the thorns,
To the branches,
Spirit or animal,
Phantom or subconscious image,
In this forest,
This warren,
This thicket,
Dark beauty,
Life within the lifeless,
The depths of a soul.

eerie in the half light
      light reflecting off snow
            bright shadow
         shadowy light
      the mist rolls
   settles
fills the streets
   making electic lights
       look like gas lights
          half glow
like a horror movie
   but peaceful
      calm
         quiet
   the sound deadened
by the snow below
   and the mist above
      absorbing
         swallowing
   taking in the sound
consuming it
   and leaving only the silence
      as i walk beneath
            that black sky
             crystal clear
          full of stars
   at contrast with the
      mist
         and the light
   and the silence
in this wonderland
   this place between
      this liminal place
   of mist and snow and silence
the eerie glow
   of shrouded
         hidden
         light
      below a canopy
   of clarity

In the early morning light,
Drifting and lazing, half asleep,
So relaxed, so calm, so peaceful,
Aware of my body, the blankets, my skin,
My senses heightened, my brain still numb,
I smile in the early morning light.

In the early morning light,
My hands wander, feeling my skin,
Smooth and soft, nothing tight,
My sides, my tummy, my *******, my legs,
Wandering, feeling, sensing, as I drift,
I smile in the early morning light.

In the early morning light,
My fingers move the soft lace aside,
They find the warm flesh beneath,
A gentle touch, a firm touch,
I slowly rub and touch and feel,
I smile in the early morning light.

In the early morning light,
The feelings are so strong,
The calm, the peace, the senses speak,
Strong yet gentle, firm yet soft,
I smile in the early morning light.

In the early morning light,
My senses heightened, they build and build,
Moving faster, finding grace,
Over the top I go, like a rushing storm,
I smile in the early morning light.

I long for your touch,
  Skin on skin,
    Your skin,
Sliding slowly,
  Smoothly,
    Effortlessly,
      All consuming,
Along my bare skin,
  Exposed,
    Revealed,
      Open to your touch,
Your touch,
  Opening me like a flower,
    Gently,
      Slowly,
All my senses consumed,
  By your touch,
    So gentle,
      So loving,
        So free,
I long for your touch.

~Bethany Davis, December 4, 2013

Mist is a kiss,
Upon my bare skin,
In the middle of night in the rain,
A lover's caress,
A joy in each drop,
The love that falls from above.

In darkness I stand,
Each drop and each sound,
The peace of the valley below,
A kiss and a touch,
A whisper and blush,
The rain is my lover and friend.

I dance in the dark,
To a song no one knows,
As my skin is caressed by the rain,
My hips they do sway,
My arms are upraised,
My thanks for the kiss of the rain.

There is no joy,
As complete as mine now,
Out all alone in the rain,
No sound can be heard,
But the ****** of rain,
Here so far from the town.

Each splash of a drop,
A whisper, a touch,
It brings such joy to my soul,
My lover, my friend,
The life giving rain,
The moisture makes love to my skin.

Mist is a kiss,
Upon my bare skin,
In the middle of night in the rain,
A lover's caress,
A joy in each drop,
The love that falls from above.

~The Love That Falls From Above by Bethany Davis, June 7, 2014

I thirst to drink from that well of nectar,
More refreshing than any drink.
Sweeter and purer, and better by far,
Than honey from any bee.
Saltier but savory, and better by far,
Than all the water in the sea.
Thicker and smoother, and better by far,
Than any milk that flows from *******.
Far more intoxicating, taking my impulses,
Than even the strongest wine.
Like a bee or a hummingbird, I hover,
I lean in to taste.
Parting the petals, inhaling and tasting,
Sweet nectar on my tongue.
Just a small taste, then one more,
And then I am drinking deep.
Lapping and licking, drinking and swooning,
From that well of nectar.

Out in the range,
Beyond all cell phone,
The peace of the valley,
The mountains around,
Where elk graze and deer run,
Where horses call home,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

The wind cross the hilltops,
The water below,
The cattle out grazing,
Hawk and eagle stand watch,
Fences and dirt roads,
Pastures and fields,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

Rainstorms and snowstorms,
Thunder and hail,
Content beneath covers,
Warm arms to hold,
Comfort me, cuddle me,
I'll be by your side,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

There's peace in the stillness,
There's warmth all alone,
Just two souls and hillsides,
We're never alone,
Isolation is a comfort,
Out out of reach,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

The barking of ranch dogs,
The mooing of cows,
The horses they knicker,
I sigh like the wind,
The bird songs and crickets,
The sounds of out here,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

Out in the range,
Beyond all cell phone,
The peace of the valley,
The mountains around,
Where elk graze and deer run,
Where horses call home,
If I could do it,
A ranch wife I'd be.

~A Ranch Wife I'd Be by Bethany Davis, June 7, 2014

Cold wind, warm sun,
Contrasting sensations,
Playing on my bare skin.
Bare feet, soft grass,
Refreshing and nice,
Urging to step forward.
Soft clouds, blue skies,
Looking down on me,
Watching and waiting.
Giant mountains, dry hills,
Waiting patiently,
For me to take a step.
Crystal water, brown mud,
My naked body reflected,
With sky, clouds, and hills.
Cold water, colder toes,
As my foot slips gently,
Oh so gently into the water.
Squishy mud, pure water,
Sliding between my toes,
So natural and so pure.
One foot, two feet,
Mud up to my ankle,
Water rising up my calves.
One step, two steps,
I walk out away from the bank,
The water getting deeper and deeper.
Deeper water, higher water,
The passes my knees,
Slowly moving up my calves
Goose bumps, tingling flesh,
As the cold water rises,
Reaching bare places used to warmth.
Cold water, cold wind,
My arms held close,
Wrapped around my *******.
Pausing, waiting,
As I build up courage,
For what I will do next.
Breathe in, breathe out,
I brace myself,
As I quickly drop down in.
Frozen flesh, rippling waves,
My legs out in front,
My naked body in to my neck.
Shivering body, force of will,
I wait as long as I can,
Before rising back to my feet.
Squishy mud, freezing wind,
I walk as fast as I can,
Through mud and hip high water.
One foot, two feet,
I climb onto the bank,
Shivering in the autumn wind.
Towel spread, body spread,
I set shivering,
Letting the warm sun bath me.
Warming sun, drying sun,
I lay there content,
The heat and nature comforting me.

Central heating
On a cold day
Such a pleasure
Such a joy
A chilly house
Bringing goose bumps
To my bare skin
And making my ******* hard
My ******* stand up
Cami and shorts
Not warm enough
For the chilly house
The water running
Warming for my shower
As I wait I get ready
My shorts fall
To the cold floor
My cami on top
My ******* slide
Down my legs
To pile on the floor
I step to the corner
Legs spread over the vent
Closing my eyes to enjoy
I can't help but wonder
Does the house's central heating
Enjoy the view more
Or does my central heating
Enjoy its touch more?

The smell of rain,
In the August air,
The fresh air joy,
The moisture comes,
The smell of grass,
It's smiling joy,
Sweet relief,
From Summer heat,
With the grass,
And with the rain,
I smile and laugh,
At its gentle kiss,
A light caress,
Upon my skin,
A lover's touch,
After time apart,
A gentle touch,
Just barely felt,
That in the light,
Delights my soul,
I smile up,
At the shining sun,
Rays through the clouds,
Drops of light,
The drops of rain,
My lover's smile,
Our eyes they meet,
The drops of rain,
Her clear giggle,
The patter falls,
I take her hand,
And round we spin,
A dance of joy,
In August rain.

~August Rain by Bethany Davis, August 25, 2014

Skin on skin,
Lips on lips,
Fluids are mixing and one.

Mound on mound,
Nether on Nether,
A joy no other has found.

Sweat and pulses,
Breathing and moving,
All raising and growing some more.

The joy and the pleasure,
Esctatic and true,
Bringing new meaning to the "daily grind".

The wind comes to me,
Like a gentle breeze,
Brushing strands of hair,
Across my cheek.

The wind comes to me,
Like a violent hurricane,
Throwing my hair,
Across my face.

The wind comes to me,
Like a gentle breeze,
A soft touch on my skin,
Stirring my need.

The wind comes to me,
Like a violent hurricane,
A strong pounding on my body,
Raising my need.

The wind comes to me,
Whether violent or gentle,
Whether soft or hard,
It satisfies me.

Two bodies,
Beneath a waterfall.
Drenched,
Dripping,
The water pours down in a torrent,
Flowing,
Splashing,
Upon our bodies.
Wet hair streaming,
Drifting,
Like sea ****,
Like watercress,
Mingling,
Blonde and brown.
The water upon our heads,
Roaring,
Laughing,
Our laughter mingles,
With the laughter of the water,
Three voices.
Hers like bells,
Ringing,
Resonating,
Echoing,
Carrying,
Light,
Metallic,
J­oyful.
Mine almost silent,
Ghostly,
Breathless,
Pure.
The water’s loader,
Overpowering,
Loader than load,
White noise,
But loader,
Like a storm,
Deep,
A pounding in my ear.
I run my hands,
Over her body,
Under the water.
Smooth,
Silky,
Wet.
She clings to me,
Holding me,
Trying not to be washed away,
Like our laughter,
Lost in the torrent,
The water,
Ever flowing,
Away.

For whom do I wait for and for whom do I long,
Through ages and times long past?
Whose touch is it that shakes my soul,
With joy and pleasure full?
Across my back a gentle touch,
That tickles as much as thrills.
Along me sides, I rise to meet,
And kisses my naked neck.
Astride my waste, my shoulders rub,
A weight that comforts and warms.
Along my arms, a gentle stroke,
That raises bumps across my skin.
Moving down on my feet to sit,
And rubs my upraised rear.
And down my thighs and my calves,
And my feet never knew such joy.
You role me over, my front exposed,
Your smile that makes me blush.
Up my legs your hands to roam,
And outward up my hips.
Once more you sit across my waist,
And now our eyes do meet.
Leaning down, you kiss my lips,
And from them come a sign.
You kiss my cheeks and then my nose,
And then my waiting neck.
My eyes are closed as your hands them roam,
And move across my *******.
I purr, I stretch, I love your touch,
The play of fingers deft.
How is your touch so well known,
Why do I know it so?
For whom do I wait for and for whom do I long,
Through ages and times long past?
Whose touch is it that shakes my soul,
With joy and pleasure full?
Your kisses come, first on my neck,
And then you kiss my chest.
Down between my lovely breast,
Your kisses pull my heart.
Round the bottom up the sides,
Your lips upon my breast.
Soft as snow and warm as fire,
And wet like springtime dew.
My flesh it moves, alive and free,
Delighting in your kiss.
Flesh to flesh, lip to breast,
Ecstatic joyous me.
First one breast and then the other,
Consuming all of me.
I quiver there beneath your hips,
And beneath your steamy breath.
I'm drowning here in ecstatic joy,
Beneath your loving kiss.
A way to die I'd be glad to have,
An ocean of your love.
Then you stop and give me breath,
And let me settle down.
You look at me with loving eyes,
In in them I am lost.
A smile you give, a crooked smile,
That bodes I know not what.
You hands them move, they touch my *******,
Then settle at my waist.
You moved down, I know not when,
For I was lost in bliss.
My waist held firm, your hips descend,
Now I'm like a bed.
Your searching kiss my belly finds,
It tickles and delights.
In circles slow with movements fair,
I giggle on my back.
And down you go, you kiss my hips,
One kiss on either side.
You kiss my mound, you move on down,
Your lips that do delight.
Once more I think and wonder why,
I swear I know your touch.
For whom do I wait for and for whom do I long,
Through ages and times long past?
Whose touch is it that shakes my soul,
With joy and pleasure full?
Your lips are soft, your gentle kiss,
Wet and fully there.
Kiss of delights that finds me there,
Kiss at my most hidden place.
A moving tongue, a searching kiss,
A building wave within.
Forever lost in sweet embrace,
A flower in the spring.
Petals part and nectar flows,
Consumed with daring care.
A flower opened for your joy,
And pleasure for myself.

~For Whom Do I Wait by Bethany Davis, June 1, 2014

I love to play with fire,
The flames before me,
Climbing high,
A stick,
Slowly burning,
Slowly spreading,
Using it to light grass,
Light sticks,
Swing it through the air,
A torch,
A fire brand,
Arc of fire,
Like a sparkler in the night.

I love to play with fire,
Tender kisses,
Lightning touch,
Her skin,
Hot to the touch,
Her body,
Hotter than hot,
Sweat dripping,
Fire in my veins,
Fire in my blood,
She lights me up,
Like a torch,
Like a Roman candle,
Exploding into the air,
All at her touch.

I love to play with fire,
Teasing,
Playing,
Exciting,
Will I find anger?
Will I find passion?
She blazes hot,
Emotions building,
Her eyes flashing,
Eyes of flame,
Burning into me,
Burning with her gaze,
Lighting my blood on fire.
I love to play with fire,
I burn hot,
As the world burns,
Burns to the ground,
And in the ashes,
I rise like the phoenix,
Reborn,
Fire from ashes,
I burn bright again,
Reborn in flames.

He sings the ghosts,
Gives them voice,
Their memories,
Living in song and verse,
Their pain,
Their joy,
Their life now gone,
Each moments,
Sang but unsung,
Spoken but left silent,
Like a wind,
Blowing,
Forming,
A wind through hearts and souls,
Not felt with skin but hearts,
Each whisper,
Raised in song,
Beyond the words,
Beyond the notes,
Rising,
Living,
Heard yet silent,
Voices long lost,
Quieted,
Silenced,
But he hears,
He sings,
And we feel the wind,
The silent stories,
The lives unknown,
Past but not so lost,
Bells more felt than heard,
Ringing in our souls,
In harmony,
In melody,
In dissonance,
Woven in music,
Unheard with heard,
Unsung with sung,
Unknown with known,
A whisper in the soul,
The bells,
Ringing in the wind,
The wind called forth,
Ghost wind,
Long lost,
But never forgotten,
He sings the ghosts.

~He Sings the Ghosts, an ode to Gordon Lightfoot by Bethany Davis, April 3, 2016

White snow, and red, red nails,
Long, pale fingers, in freezing cold.
Wet and painful, cold's hard burn,
Summer's breeze is winter's storm.
What once cooled nicely, now is dread,
Cuts the bones and cools the blood.
Bow your head, before the cold,
Stinging needles, of ice and cold.
Quickly moving, against the cold,
Moving slowly for slick and snow.
Through an eternal, blinding walk,
At least the door, and then to warmth.

There it is before me,
The most beautiful flower,
Fairer than all the others,
More beautiful than the rose in all it's glory,
More elegant than the fair lily,
More divine than the great lotus,
More pure than the innocent daily following the sun.
The flower of creation,
All stars,
All worlds,
It shines before me,
In all it's perfection,
Closed like a bud,
But waiting,
Waiting for me,
To open its outer pedals,
So strong and smooth,
To part the inner pedals,
So delicate and tender,
To lean in and drink,
Drink deep of the illicit nectar,
Sweet nectar,
Divine nectar,
The elixir of the gods.

Tink,
Tink, tink,
Thump, tink,
Drip upon the skylight,
Lightly falling,
Lightly splashing,
On the roof,
On the windows,
On the dry ground,
Thirsty ground,
Dampening,
Wetting,
Soaking,
Drenching,
Life in water form,
Bringing life to a dry land.

Sweet White Wine
By Bethany Davis

sweet white wine
spilled from
the bottle
containing it
sparkling
glistening
in the lamp light
where it sits pooled
around the opening
of that lovely bottle
i gaze upon
smiling
i lean down
open my lips
and lick away that wine
that natural wine
so sweet
so salty
from the flesh bottle
from which it came

Dark and cold and howling wind,
My ire hot and anger strong,
I walk the streets and long for blood,
A lioness whose prey is gone.
My skin is cold but blood is hot,
The need to rip, the need to hurt,
I know I can’t nor would I try,
But hurt and anger are deadly food,
And I eat upon it in the dark,
And all that’s past and all to come,
I know I must step back and calm,
To calm and settle and fight no more,
To return to peace, to cool my blood,
And in the dark and cold and wind,
I try to calm, I look for peace,
For ire cooled and anger dropped,
For waning fire and waxing calm,
Back to myself, I turn once more,
And let it go and walk beyond,
The lioness back to her cave,
And warm my skin and cool my blood,
And let Fate do what must be done.
~Heated Blood by Bethany Davis, October 5, 2014

For four long months without a job,
Resting, waiting, calm,
Creative, peaceful, full of life,
First time in four long years.

Soon that time will finally end,
And I'll go back to work.
But on this day I rest in bed,
And take a gentle nap.

Peacefully I lay in bed,
Soon to settle down.
The softness of the familiar bed,
The heavy covers nice.

This time of rest has been so nice,
And I'm glad that it came.
But time moves on and soon enough,
I'll welcome things to do.

Emotions high but spirits low,
Pain that's deep and sorrow strong,
What to say?  How to talk?
And tears fall.

Strength within seem way too small,
But holding on and standing talk,
How to hide it?  How to praise?
And tears fall.

My back is straight, I face the pain,
Emotions consuming but will is strong,
Can I make it?  Can I live?
And tears fall.

Life goes on and pain it fades,
Another challenge, another day,
What is memory?  What is thought?
And tears fall.

What is poetry some might ask?
It's two robots, moving tapes in unison,
A dance where neither touches it's partner.

What is poetry some might ask?
It's a lazy Saturday, nothing to do,
No concerns or regrets as time passes unnoticed.

What is poetry some might ask?
It's the moment just before dawn,
The sun still hiding but painting the sky with fire.

What is poetry some might ask?
It's the quiet of a forest meadow in spring,
Still but living, gentle but vivid, forgotten yet always remembered.

What is poetry some might ask?
It's a lover's touch in the night barely felt,
The waves of knowing and being known through the lightest touch.

What is poetry some might ask?
It's the soft chill of the evening on a mountain pass,
The ground warm but the air with a gentle bite warning of the night cold.

What is poetry some might ask?
It's the almost memory of a dream just passed,
Fading in detail but the feeling that for an instant you knew contented joy.

What is poetry some might ask?
It's the last words of a beloved book,
The satisfaction of things concluded and the loss of all that's done.

What is poetry some might ask?
It's a melody half remembered and half gone,
The knowledge and feeling of all the notes dancing and then resolved.

What is poetry some might ask?
It's the pang of death and joy of birth,
All of life folded up and inward into one word.

What is poetry some might ask?
It is.

~What is Poetry? by Bethany Davis, November 8, 2015

Beneath the surface, it’s all signals,
The coil of a metal detector,
The remote control of a drone,
A phone call,
An email,
An app,
A voice,
Circuits and antennae,
Information and noice,
Transmitters and receivers,
Sensors and data abound,
In copper,
Through air,
Beneath the earth,
Through the great black void,
Light by camera and eye,
Sound by mic and each ear,
Taste and smell and touch,
Each spark,
Each flash,
Each photon and wave,
Neuron to neuron,
It’s all signals,
Beneath the surface of all

~Beneath the Surface by Bethany Davis, January 1, 2024