Going swimming here means being very cold afterward. Only a few days ago Daphne convinced me to walk from

the bridge to the beach until creeping along the rocks beneath the road, I fell in.

 

Asher is hopefully still well, I think of him at a crosswalk on my way to the train: there is a silver birch and I

remember he is from Silver Springs.

                                                                        I hear he was in the hospital. My mother stood on the stairs

and watched me come up to the door like I was company. He is dear to me because of that wonderful evening

when he made shrimp with mustard sauce. In your last letter you said he bought you new black boots.

You put them in the back of your closet as a reward for when you wore out the first pair. Then walked

up and down the hills.

                                                                                                                     The last time I saw you

we'd both been drinking. You kept whispering, nothing is private. There is nothing private.

 

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