You will not find me if I go in ashes, earth, or stone, or yellowed photos etched by teardrops. Memories die and summer's flowers shrivel in the cold. My spirit will not linger on in objects, clothing, art or home, but I will dance where mountains march to sea. I've wandered for millennia, searching for you — only to find us back where you began. We live only In your heart. Look around you — you are the mountains, the sky, the earth, the stars — a search constant and clear the revealing science of god your spirit is needed elsewhere — that which was never born can never die — the body is a passing fancy, nothing more and nothing less.