Sat 19 Nov 2005 06:46
Dear Grandad,
    It is a beautiful, clear morning.
The post office waits for this letter.
I refilled my fountain pen for
the occasion. It feels good
to breathe deeply. The air is
cool, cold, and fresh, though
the roar of traffic is in the
distance. My toes in my shoes
without socks are chilled but
not freezing. I lay on my
back on a mat on a ramp
at the back of the park near
Ann's house. The sky, blue,
with the moon looking
up in it. Yes this is your
birthday letter! and my
chance to relax in a nice
place writing what I
feel like writing. This is a good,
if somewhat unsocial way to
celebrate your birthday.

(1)

The sun is low and bright
shining yellow/golden on the grass and trees.
If I were a powerful poet
I might have you feel now that
I have thought of you and
so contain you now as you
read this letter, as you now
contain me making me live
as you read. The wind moves,
rustles, the small, shaggy leaves
of the pepper trees. Birds bend and crackle
tones like transistor radios seeking
stations. An ant walks up my vest.
A car alarm sounds far off. Traffic
roars low all around. Dogs yelp.
A tailpipe fires. A man's shadow leans
long on the grass.
    There's another poet--that first one
was Whitman--less concerned
with you as she is with her own
Atom of consciousness and the
realm she forms by here spread-
ing her hands over this white
land. The all-meaning or all-missing
that she forms here draws her
such that an earthquake
    could shake, and

(2)

She would not look up from her
work. Maybe she was making that up.
    So is this mind-power of the poets
imaginary or is there any
other kind of power? Some use
houses, money, leadership positions
to compose their feelings of power,
the poets use words, thoughts,
visions. Something is burning--
woodsmoke is apparently far
more polluting than diesel--
I guess it depends how much.
    I think the smoke, the
cold [, the ants] win this round as
the words I consider here
do not make them go away,
and only partly make their
effects disappear.
    I'll mail this then go to
school, do some exercise and
work on a paper about power and
Whitman and Dickinson.
    See you on Wednesday or

(4)

or Thursday.

    happy Birthday!
          Grandad
      Love,

           Colin

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