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we know God is dead, they_ toldus, but listening to you I wasn_ sure. maybeit was the upper case. you were one of thebest female poets and I told the publishers, editors, _ her, print her, she_ mad but she__agic. there_ no lie in her fire._ I loved youlike a man loves a woman he never touches, onlywrites to, keeps little photographs of. I would haveloved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling acigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,but that didn_ happen. your letters got sadder.your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, alllovers betray. it didn_ help. you saidyou had a crying bench and it was by a bridge andthe bridge was over a river and you sat on the cryingbench every night and wept for the lovers who hadhurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but neverheard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met youI would probably have been unfair to you or youto me. it was best like this.