A house in the rustic woods wherein I glanced up at a distant planet to find gems stuck to it, and sat back to relax and find that I was a rich woman at least in my own eyes.

I loved the touch of the wind. I loved the touch of the wind, the wicked drought would not corrupt our times the blushing of a girl and the softness of her curl-who knew what could be uncovered in there? Many small beauties living in a cavern, in came a lover dwelling somewhere beneath the sea where octopus swam through what looked like complicated sea trees and there was no sound there underground, just the barely audible swoosh of my legs and arms-it's okay to be alone, it's alright to be alone here beneath the sea where the water fills in the space and where green red brown algae fill in the spaces and you can barely move there're so full a matter of time before the sea bats begin shaking their wings and all restlessness is abated. Small shrimp lie at my feet talking in whispers to my toes and the dead Neptune servants call up the helpless crys of the wet and sugar-coated lies . . . . So we ran through the fields and down to the sea, gently, ever so gently going down to the sea with a basket of ideals and a blanket to love by the sea, and when we were older we went back there to retrieve the memory of the body-the smell and the feel of the sand by our sea, our little but of heaven-the backyard and we took photos to remember how it would be when memory no longer served us correctly-we felt we knew what we were. And later we felt the same as we did then. That we knew what we were, but we only knew stages of what we were, and some of us broke to protect ourselves from our parents that were all too much of us, and we hid behind a tree to rid ourselves of our punishment silently. And we remembered the smell of the sea and the swing on which we were tall enough to see the heights of the neighbor's rooftops and chimneys. I would have loved to have known you as a child now as you slip back into your old ways with your family . (which I don't completely understand) I would love to have seen you as a child on your own and as part of your family-running from your house down to the sea, skimming rocks and singing and becoming what you are with me today - I'm sure I want to understand too much, a humanist I was born to be - worshiping the growing human being and the causes and effects of his reality. A little boy with his toy guitar.