Oh I’m clever, clever. I cannot die. What scintillance of brain cells … Hell!—and fever, fever. You shimmer quaintly, nurse. In or out of phase, please. Really. You know, I’ve half a mind … ho! Ice, I see. By water burn my blaze away …

Most cold this morning, cold. The sun is black, sucks where it once spent its light, August is reversed, and dust is snow. I cannot quite remember, are you gone? How far? From where do your letters come? I do remember mornings when we two rose with the sea breeze, my shirt blown about on you, time rewound with every wave. That sun: will it never white again? We wrote letters for a long time, long time, long time … Distance shuts my mouth.

The mistral and sirocco yield: I regain my weather and my weight. I lie down late, rise early, often see the round return of one more day.