I am troubled for her. I want an anchor to hold and keep her from dashing upon the rocks. There’s been time and room to navigate these challenges, to circle and play, to figure eight, collide the waves.
The surface stretches out like a canvas.
I have numbers to make sense of it.
I have broken her into lines.
Now it is late and the wind picking up. Consonants are overthrowing consonants. All must be sealed and lashed for the night. The vowels are howling. Hoping to withstand the harshest critique.
Decisively you stood up for me. The sun was nowhere to be seen, bright was the sky had been vacated, so clear you could see the stars embedded in blue. Decisive it was you. The blue was of the freshest upcycled hard knock gel you coulda thought it was original and might even say american, which was upcycled, too, and swell. I was a dangling participle, left hanging like an pomegranate swollen on the bush late in summer. The bush wanted rid of me but I would not fall, and they wanted to pick me off anyway. Decisively you stopped them when they tried to pick me off. I couldn’t even see them as you know. We want some seeds, they said, and all they were was mouths watering. You surged with a dry wry unflinching certainty: “and what of the rest of her, discard her, would you?” They quivered and wavered and blinked their mouths. Innocently suggesting only this little part of me was useful. It was then you hedged them out of the yard with the clippers. My seeds were glowing inside me like jelly, like wax, like embers, like fireflies, like rain at night in the light. The sun came out of the blue and reappeared in the sky. It was so nice and warm, I could modify you for days and days. And days and days and days. Modifying you. Days and days and days and days and days.
I unearthed the secret message you sent me, when I took all the words away from your letters and left only the punctuation marks and remarks. Now I can connect the dots and see what you mean. I understand you feel connected. And I still love you, too. Maybe some day we can exchange words. I know that meeting up in person is impossible. I would fall unconscious if you touched me. I accidentally rubbed all of the coating off the photograph, so there is nothing left of us now. Was the question mark between the two exclamation points several sentences apart, considered cancelled out? I will keep it circled until you tell me so. It all ended so abruptly. I am under stress and over emphasis. But in places where the words ran off the pages, I lost your meaning, you see, I sponged the table after breakfast and must have washed them out. I must dash away now. I’m really sorry for to have to ask you to repeat yourself. But I need to be sure, or else I will make a fool of myself. Please do not worry anymore. Like light over time, the image is always moving. Changing. Sometimes I wish it was blurry again, because when it’s this clear it can be so sharp it hurts. Do not forget I …