The catalog of emotion that disappears when someone dies, and the degree to which we rely on a few people to record something of what life was to them, is almost too much to bear.

Sarah Manguso, Ongoingness: The End of a Diary

"So. This as well when no one looks. Go n’eiri an bother leat while the wind be always at your back. Run up the fields. Blink to the house. Go sun blindness. Turn my arse. Lift to fly. Balloon across the earth. Puff ball keep your knick-knacks covered. Belting on the wind me. Beating me at my own game. Scup there skirts and give us a dance. Be pelted by the dark rains. Feet wet like trough. Soak them blue to black through flesh and bone. Scratch my arms on fair blackthorn. Knee cut rocks for learning how to fly. Whip grass cut hands and lips on a scutch pipe. I’ll call all the fairies and ones living underground. For I know they’re listening. Will give me thorns in my pockets and thorn in my bed. I’ll jig on their houses til my lips turn red. I’ll give you a whirl twirl. A smack on the paddy whack but Get in this house. Get in this house you, always, always comes."

"So. This as well when no one looks. Go n’eiri an bother leat while the wind be always at your back. Run up the fields. Blink to the house. Go sun blindness. Turn my arse. Lift to fly. Balloon across the earth. Puff ball keep your knick-knacks covered. Belting on the wind me. Beating me at my own game. Scup there skirts and give us a dance. Be pelted by the dark rains. Feet wet like trough. Soak them blue to black through flesh and bone. Scratch my arms on fair blackthorn. Knee cut rocks for learning how to fly. Whip grass cut hands and lips on a scutch pipe. I’ll call all the fairies and ones living underground. For I know they’re listening. Will give me thorns in my pockets and thorn in my bed. I’ll jig on their houses til my lips turn red. I’ll give you a whirl twirl. A smack on the paddy whack but Get in this house. Get in this house you, always, always comes."