Years ago you sent me the heart meditation of . . .
gosh, the man's name has just flown out of my head,
but he wrote a book on silence, which I've loaned out
so I can't put my hand on it and get it back—the name,
that is. The book is yellow. But, anyway, if you still have it,
the heart meditation, in the bowels of your computer
somewhere, I'd love to get it again. Hope things are good
with you there. They are here, except for my increasing
difficulty in walking; my skill at circumlocution,
the talk around a word desperately hoping someone
can follow me, gets better. I was unable to come up
with monastery the other day, though I was able to say
it was the opposite of nunnery. No one was able
to comprehend what I was saying, but they were probably
not good at charades, either. Aha! His first name was Robert.
Aha! Sardello. The long safari out of darkest memory bank