[The letter begins again.] Dear someone. Only a few hours since you’ve left. [I’ve forgotten the address: an harbor, an archipelago. Somewhere in Nagoya, perhaps.] Can’t sleep. Went for a walk and found a postcard too narrow to hold much of anything. I wanted to say I drew this map. [Up and then in.] But coral stamped on the edge is a dead giveaway. [Which is certainly no excuse.]

[One third of one third is trust.] Our axis spinning, a tilt. You moved [and were formatted] against the call of a bird, like ibis. [His ink.]

[He sleeps like an anchor most every night. Surveys the cliff, the estuary at task. Worries about the rupture of meridian, prime and otherwise.]

No reason for worry, but people suddenly make themselves scarce. Moving to a new place is hard, especially when the current, halfway between cell and ledger, delivers the strait’s disappearance. [A window into gaijin snow.] Never quite sure how to tell you this so it will have resonance. Reinvent the shoal, the she, the crux of the V. The solstice will be kind to you. [You crack your knuckles as I lengthen.] [The yakuza hears this.]

In Satsuma, they had a compass that lead the way—a vaulting of chatter. Nippon will show you strange and alien things—they’ll become a part of you. [A single route: an island in this hemisphere as though she were walking in circles.]

Genki? [She waits for his response, which more than mock is imitation. Wondering how the equator will deviate.] [Hold tight.] You haven't even left yet.