The scent of the purple butterfly bush
and the clean fresh air
The sound of the sea
Does it for me

A walk down the road
Rough may it be
Getting nearer the beach
And nearer the sea

To think once I lived there
Amazing it be
I’m sad that I left there
I’m missing the sea!

It did it for me!

the rawness of things suspended in the air
an invisible hand pushes the hours through us into the compost and delight of memory
I don't have words for tomorrow, only your name today and warm tears.  I was born into a dead language so
I have this detector for the silence of windows, it sneaks in my lungs
pain is offline, the dark swallows itself
no wonder last night I dreamt a girl in a blue kimono
-you are my hiroshima, I breath like a prehistoric fish-
she was smiling to something only she could see.
love, this prehistoric wonder,
a fragile skin of this weary world

Inside penumbra light holding hands fairies dance
Silhouetted to the backdrop of an evening sky  
Viridescent trees softly whisper
Vacuously standing side by side  
In those shrouded places where fairies take a stand.
Wings of power wings of light hear their magic song
If you wanna fly with me
If you wanna ride with me
Believe in your own wings and remember to be strong
Trust yourself, when your searching for that hidden door  
Dance until the moon sighs
Dance until the moon plies
Inside the penumbra light the fairies dance and dance
Silhouetted against the greenish glow of an Aurora sky.

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