[IN THE ENVELOPE OF SECRETS I CLOISTER]In the envelope of secrets I cloistersense away from madness.A caged cough reveals nothing but damp airand a chill unstirred.I sense a religion of waterstamped into the body of each believer.This letter is to no one. This note leftin the kitchen is never to be read or seen.The weather is to devour it. This letteris only a reference to my remaining unhurt.[TOO MANY WORDS. TOO MUCH WATER]Too many words. Too much waterin the body.Awe in the darknessof closed books.Everlasting punctuation.A dagger speaks of bloodand its persistent love for a body opened.All this paperwork with the war near at hand.Enchantmentis a songthe body must remember how to sing.[I KNOW NOT WHAT FATE HUNGERS FOR]I know not what fate hungers for.My static is not a song.My song is a courtesyfor the prairie as a sentence, the statea paragraph of purpose buried inside itself.Sprightly days I have no mood for.Weep for the citizens we know. The unknownare swept away to calculated specks of doubt.Safely pronounced out of danger, this statesteers fate’s eternal façade, its river,until so far removed, it resembles someplace else.