I received you letter at the end of August. It sat at the end of the table for several days, half forgotten. Then one night after clearing the dinner dishes, I found it again. I opened it and pulled out a small picture of you smiling in front of a line of camels. On the back you had written that the two men on the left were guides. You wrote the name of the foreign town they were taking you to. I would imagine now that you have went through that town, and are moving towards some other further place. Enough time has passed.

In you letter you spoke of the Mediterranean and your first landing on the continent. You had contacted your mother, but she had other business and was unable to have you visit. I am sorry for that. I can remember having met her and having similar problems.

Here the yard is starting to curl and dry. We are at the end of the warm months. The garden has done well even though I have not had time to tend it. I gave most of the pears to the neighbor.

I walked out yesterday to the end of the rock fence. The wind does not yet smell like winter. I took two doves for my dinner and ate in the front room in the wooden chair. There are two trees in the woods that fell last summer. Next weekend I am driving the pickup back there to start cutting them up.

I wonder what it is like where you are. Your words are sparse. I have an old book about it over there. I'm sure the information is still not current, but there are a few pictures. I try to see you standing in the pictures. I see you standing at the base of the dry mountains. You point out across the broken rocks. You take tea beside the nomads. The pictures are black and white, so I struggle only with the colors.

I am mailing this to the last address I had for you and do not know when you will receive it. Your sister has called asking on you. I will tell her what I am able.

You are the custom's agent.

Pretend: you wait all day in your room watching monitors and listening to people. The airplanes fly overhead. Flights come in from Germany and South Korea. You see a man connecting to Canada make a scene. You see his red face call to the ladies behind the desk. Then everything keeps moving. Business is the normal business.

Now I have come in with my small suitcase. None of the dogs smell me. I declare nothing. Then I'm gone into the streets of your city.

I've brought with me the terrible things. Your failure has missed me. And I will assist everyone I know in getting worse and worse.

When I fly again, I will already know you. I will become faster and faster while you are at slow.

Look, the statues are bowing when I move between them.

Coming to midnight alone and the world stretches out. The lawns lie flat in time under houses. Breeze moves the alleys and the rocks in the alleys. It is cooler, and quieter.

My breathe is full. My lungs make their heavy sounds.

If you were coming around in a car, you would not see me standing beside the porch. My one hand is tucked behind my head as if I were thinking. The other slouches in the pocket of my jacket. My feet have made scuffs in the mulch.

All this time before, I've been waiting. All the words and phrasing is in my head. I've acted the actions over again. I know all the steps.

If a car comes around again all this time before I've been waiting.

The world has gotten lower and you can stoop to reach it. With your handful of fingers you held up the trees. You held up the lawns in our neighborhood. You carried the streets down to the park where they ended. Now that you are gone.

Nothing holds this place. It is so low anyone can reach it. It is common.

I do not care to stay here. In this place I want to be away. The neighbors will say 'He has went away. I water the peppers each week, and collect his mail. I saw his sister peering in the window. But he is gone.'