I walk down railroads and bridges, following the shadows of telephone lines. I walk until I find the center. There are strawberries bursting from the skirts of every tree in this garden. Lushness lingers and the fuzzy shadows leisure twist over the pauses pile up the minutes unzip to make room for too many thoughts. I've called and left 16 voicemails. I've said more than my old letters ever could. But you have already packed it up and mailed no letters back