Swept out a calligrapher’s window to the end, to a cart en route to the dock, cargo for the open sea. A letter, now in the hands of Haiti, the findings of a crowd. Together they read:
Dearest Little World,
With a heart equally heavy & free, I must relay to you my imminent departure. At once & with permeance (sic), with the sun as it delaminates indefinitely beyond le massif des montagnes. Alas, no ship is able to fare me, nor sugar cane sweeten me, nor contention shuttle me to your embraces; a tidal, a mind’s conflicted chagrin & elation, a fugue on the shores of some concealed amnesia.
The men stood blankly, under many moons and across much blackness, for her presence to indeed permeate. Ultimately, her consonants had been misplaced… her being very much departed.
(hand lettering by Lynette Sage)