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III. 11. Letter to Someone I Do Not Know Dearest ------ I've watched your letters from a distance. These eddies spiralling from the cracks in my basement walls form a blue smoke of pleasure, the kind of intoxication that comes after slipping off a cliff while laughing. What do you mean by "love"? I wonder, do you mean a hollow heart with a child's marbles inside, which in loving remains the untouched wholeness of a new sky. Or do you mean a magnetic bit on a disk, an iota of information, infinitely replicable without burning the original atoms of the same message, replicated. Or I suppose you mean I am part of the intricate mosaic embedded in everyone's eyes. The part that wraps lovers firmly as jungle vines and sparkles the world's crystal. Sometimes I wonder if your soul is held by angels who leave streaks of multi-colored white for those to follow, from the last life into this. Would you remember the rose petals in rainwater and the needles in wax? We will not get beyond these, I suppose. In an innocent sheet of white wove paper, I wrap your words, carefully, as a baby who has not yet woken. Love, ----------

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