"Where stream and source fail, where no refreshment exists, I quench your thirst from hidden depths: I am your sustenance today and tomorrow." ~ "Well," M.C. Escher, from XXIV Emblemata, 1931 Spirit, I give you my string of seed pearls, a pewter pendant returned to some semblance of shine with a scrub of toothpaste and water. Even after the fact, in my mind, I am always composing a letter. But I have a hard time deciding how much to bequeath and how much to withhold. I forget where it was I started, what I gathered, what I intended to do with it. Spirit, I listen to gulls cry in the wind and imagine they know where all the boats in the world are going. I imagine how wind currents skim the length of the bay, rotating clockwise as if proportional in force to some great heart in its depths. Spirit, I still want to stay. Fog wets my cheek. The coasts have not all washed away.