In the Pines.

Dear William,

The fantastic brilliance of the Shadow-Box!
Like real Life,
but not.
Everything's neatly arranged,
cut-out and displayed
as if it all made perfect sense.

And the figures are in human form-
Like real Life,
but not.
Everything's perfect and precise,
and so nice-ly
two-dimensional.

Tell me, are your shadows still singing?
Does the ringing echo of their songs fill churches and barns
like they used to?

And are you William?
Or are you Jacob?

Such subconscious slip-ups
send me spinning
and reeling-
I can't read your writing
for much longer,
because I am looking for myself
in every metaphor
every moment
every story-
I am searching for my meaning.

Thank you for the letter.

(and ps. I hate the city.)

Sincerely,
Clementine