Little lady, you live in my protection. Butterfly baby, your bassinet is under a canopy in my land. Songbird girl, I am yours. Forever and ever, I am yours, your genie of the magic lamp. Oh, yes, of course I could grant your wishes, if only you believed in me. You insist on wishing on a star when I am here for you, just on the other side of the mirror.

I keep your soul for you, shine it daily. Can I stamp your heart with my name? I only want to be your sister. With me your pennies would always be heads; your skies would always have rainbows, and you could ride the clouds with me. I want more than anything to cherish you, little bird. Please see me in your eyes tomorrow.

Can't you hear me calling you every time bells ring? My voice is unusual to you, I sound like chimes, I feel like air, I look like smoke, I smell like powder and I taste like honey. You only know what you can take in your arms.

I would take Hell between my fingers again for you. . . .

I would spend another eternity inside a crystal ball, learning the future backwards. I would charm another man for a century for a bit of sparkle to put in your eye. I would be the unseeing wind and unfeeling snow three thousand times more if only I could make you half mine.

I want to be in you and begin you, and make sure you never end.

Precious one, I sing nursery rhymes about you. Delighted, I find that you hear them in dreams. My fingers, which are smoke in your world, curl around your sleeping hands. I snuggle, ghostlike, into your bed.

I find that my thoughts of you bring the rain. That dogs growl and nip at your heels when I walk you to school. That my tears make the sky break out in a rash. How can a being of light like you, little sister, live in such an unnatural world that my love can make it try to abort you?

You burst my smoky heart with your wishes and I shatter into a billion pieces, gathering again in your heart. I watch you embrace me without knowing what you are doing. I suppose that you are too young to remember the days when you could not walk on the ceiling and the times when alive things didn't glow.

Hiding in your heart, my magic can have a human touch. It can make the cats worship you rather than hiss. That is what I was doing wrong. I was trying to be a part of your world and not of you.

Now you glitter the cats' eyes and have your pick of familiars; even the rocks respond. Flowers show their faces for you, like I always wanted. My little sister, how long can I hold you? Will you ever acknowledge me, the slice of midnight that turns you into a darker day?

Do you really have to wake up now?

You don't face death, you are life on this side. Please don't let go of my hand.

Why is the sun so important to you? You can be your own sun. Right now I'm your moon. But I can't change my phase until you turn around. And as you know, you can only see one side of me.

Do your eyes see through me yet? Can you hear me, my sister? Those are not your windchimes and you are not dreaming. Can you see me, my sister? Your garden is not on fire, and you are not dreaming. Can you feel me, little sister? I am air and love. Do you know me yet? Am I jailed within you or away from you?

Purple, silver, orange, indigo . . . I am the fifth nameless color with no rhyme, because my own sister cannot know that I am existing in front of her.

How can a goddess have a master as weak as the breeze?

A vacant seashell becomes my new home. I sing nursery rhymes of my sister within its walls. The inside of a seashell is quite a bit less comfortable than a young girl's heart.