To my friend,
It's been a long time since I've heard from you.
I imagine your letters simply have not reached me,
nor mine reached you. Those are the times we live
in. Still, there is a chance and so I write again.
I have, now, fled the mountain (this also, perhaps,
may be the reason I have not received your letters).
It felt as if it was no longer safe, though safety
and isolation being the very reason I first embarked
upon the now clearly misguided venture of settling
there. One way in, and one way out. Had the flames
reached it (and by now I can only hold out some
sliver of hope that they have not as yet) I would
have faced almost certain death. Hence, I write
from the road. I carry my belongings with me where
I go and have since made my way down the valley.
Oh—do you remember when we stood atop the bluffs
and watched the wave of darkness spread across the
land, rushing like a wave down the valley floor
as the sun was so briefly snuffed out? I think of
that day often. Now, I move through a perpetual
twilight. Somewhat similar and yet distinctly
different in it's unending-ness. I wish that you and
I could—hold, someone now approaches down the
roadway. I must set aside my writing for a time.
Until next time, may this find you well.
With love,
Your friend.
Bibliography 2014
Inkjet on paper, copper wire. 2014-2016.
Edition of 15, with four artist's proofs.
Produced with much thanks and love to Patricia No
and Antonia Pinter
of Publication Studio.
Bibliography 2014 is available through Publication Studio.