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June 18, 2001
For you, Allen, I read "Howl" to the winds of the Continental Divide. For you, Leslie, I threw a snowball down a cliff whose bottom I couldn't see. For you, mom, I carry this stupid cell phone & wear its collar and leash. For you, Rodrigo, I think of France when I see this land. For you, new friend, I wish I had printed out your poetry before I left. For you, who lies on the bed while I write these lines, I hide them from you, and tell you not what I know.

I keep them all for me.