Dear Billy, my lad—

Through channels as intricate as life itself, I have in hand a copy of Stylus. Thank you, thank you. Indeed I am not dead, though more I cannot say. You are, God bless you, one of the three people in the world who conceivably could care. 

 

Times when the mountain is not here
except as the bells of cattle grazing
in the fog, or higher up, on the tropical side,