Dear Esther (№ 329772)

We are not like Lot's wife, you and I have no particular desire to look back. There's nothing to see. Will not be tired, old man, breaking rocks with your hands; gifts or Bibles lying on the sand waiting. The tides will always change the tides, and seagulls scream overhead. The bones of the hermit are no longer waiting for you to take: I stole them and I hid in the bowels of this island, in the blackness passes, and we can cover each other's faces, their strange glow.