letter,

[ letter, ]

Dear C,

....................................I am not here
I am nothing, a vestige, my catkins are flowering
in their pendulous search of one more thought
extrusion. From my willow a sense of breathl
.....................................................e
......................I always think..............s
...................................................s
Maybe I ache.....................................p
From hu( )man vacancy...........................r
Maybe my bark is dark gray........................o
and deeply furrowed. I don't.........................p
...........................................................u
................always think............................l
........................................................s
.......I can write a beautiful.....................i
...Lang-Po letter, and in an identical way.......o
my brain defies volition...............................n
.............................we are not
or else the sparrow's singing, and the song is my
valence of choice,
......................and the song
is my indwelling force. Among the difficulties
........................................... \
"male and female trees are often dissimilar
....flowers are produced at different times of the year"
................................................ \
I wonder if my flower-stalks................. \
will produce their leaves and.................. \
flowers simultaneously, soothing,............I read this today.
though melancholy.

..................Within the walls of my dream, seraphs
..................fill the architecture of skin
..................their bodies touch
..................and touch again. One day
..................I was playing under the Willow, leaves in
.......glassy s
............t.... t.....s
..............r.....r.....t
................e.....e.....r
..................a.....a.....e
...................m.....m....a.......flowed out into the garden
......................s.....s.....m..whilst I was drooping in grief
...............................s.......like a whorl of your disheveled hair

C, light and elegant foliage flows with each
dispossession and what begins as an abundance
of small life rests lightly on life's station of
desire.
..............unknowing,
..............ry^n
* * * * *