dream deep

After a prolonged absence there is usually nothing anyone or anybody can do to ease the inevitable numbness that becomes everyday. Now, my darling, listen carefully. They will come for us soon. I can hear them with their sunday silver and polished plates of glass and their grandmothers' porcelain: the clink and the crash -- the dive and the dash. I do not have a lot of time to tell you what I have to tell you now. Under no circumstances whatsoever must you come to look for me. Soon I will pass away and only shadows will mark the place and time of my passing. Perhaps you will recognize me; I will not blame you if you do not. It has been such a long time, my love. 


The words are in the books: they have taken the words and hidden them in the books that we dreamt about. You must be the one to look for them: you know what they are, and I will not be spared the time. The yellow one will be somewhere with sunshine (a travelogue on Tuscany, perhaps?), and the blue ones will all be on the bottom of the sea. They are too dark for anything like the sky. The red ones they will have all hidden in the written hearts of men, mark my words on this. Look in Nabokov and Dostoyevsky for the lost heliotrope ones that even we could never find at first. Then, Tolkien, unlikely as it may sound. Apparently they have a great and perverse love of hobbits. The deep and the dark will not work: it will fail us at the end. You must know this and go willingly. Too many tales have ended because of fettered mind and faint heart and I would not have you thus. 
Know this: In the corner of the dark and deep (after the leviathan and the gorgon have killed each other for the heart you bear in your chest) I will be there. 
Please hold on until then.