Dear Ted, hello.
I find myself laid out before the horn of morning–
I last wrote from the grey and yet
my hands shake still. The dew
holds a memory of frost yet
I wander ever onwards.
I have been diving again. I chased
a strange gossamer worm
to the bottom of the world.
It taught me nothing.
It made me afraid.
Do not worry. I have said it before
but I mean it this time. There is a cliff
with a giant below. His eyes are open
but mine are too; I know his name.
I became lost somewhere in the whirl of it–
a thousand channels blaring and the men
in my mind cannot handle the traffic.
I am laid out upon the tarmac as the sun rises
and the sky is bruised by fire.
Dear Ted, hello
Dear Ted, I am fine. Thank you.
I have left the grey and the sky
spreads open before me in shades
of pink and gold. My fingertips
are frostbit; my core is filled with fire.
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