Dear Esther. I have found myself to be as featureless as this ocean, as shallow and unoccupied as this bay, a listless wreck without identification. My rocks are these bones and a careful fence to keep the precipice at bay. Shot through me caves, my forehead a mount, this aerial will transmit into me so. All over exposed, the nervous system, where Donnelly’s boots and yours and mine still trample. I will carry a torch for you; I will leave it at the foot of my headstone. You will need it for the tunnels that carry me under.
By the first note I am reduced to tears. How did you capture my sorrow and paint it into a picture, a marvel, anxiety and resolve at the same time? This solitude pierces my mind, this sound is deafening.
I can feel the wind on my skin and smell the ocean water. The cold of winter embracing my being the sand beneath my feet. The sunset seeing right through me and rocks pointing and poking at my hurt. Dear Esther is my deepest sadness.