I wonder if you know, anonymous donor, what it means to me, to write these words, here in Portland, where rain lashes ceaselessly from the heavens (but I don’t mind) and then infinity splits and for a moment the yellow milk of the sun pours down, before the clouds close again and everything is the color of steel- I wonder if you know how it feels to write these words, and throw them out into the universe, just throw them out there, where so many other words are churning, and falling, and whole lives are being lived, and winked out- and to have it be more important than nearly everything- more important, almost, than nearly every single thing, to think that someone might read them, and appreciate them- and they are just sentences- sentences! Made of nothing- nothing! Not brick or wood or any solid thing- although I know that they can feel, sometimes, if I do it just right- if I do it just right– if I split myself open and give birth to the truth that lives inside me like a yellow glowing coal- I know that they can feel as though they were made of steel, as if these sentences were stronger than the strongest chains- as if anything could be that strong- as if anything, ever, could be that strong- as if anything could be anything other than mortal, and finite, and prone to rust, and the accumulation of passing time- I wonder if you know how that feels.

Thank you.