this extended writing game each letter dangles at the end of a string extending from a reel; cast it away--it disappears pull it back--it returns crisscrossing letters: I write a response to your last letter at the moment you drop a letter to me in a corner mailbox; confined in a pages' peripheries, love's language wants to scrawl in three dimensions, letter rewriting itself according to where you are as you're reading it, to spatially express the continuously shifting emotional dynamic between the letter its writer its reader; a letter which as it is read secretes silken lineaments--you are writing in bed then you move to the table while I am at window reading the previous letter you wrote you move from table to couch I leave my apartment to go to the deli as I pay for my coffee with your letter in my bag you put your letter sealed and addressed in your bag and go to the movies lines cross and recross forming string figures, twining an invisible architectural anatomy, an ever-changing cartography, revealing our internal geography traversing the gap between our two-dimensional words and the three dimensions of our lives that those words try to describe Helen Keller learning geometry: unable to see figures drawn on the blackboard, she constructed them on a cushion with straight and curved wires next