((Letter) Retrieved from) Counterintelligence

Dear friend,
I'm writing you
From a foreign country
Where poetry's forbidden and

To wit:
The trees sing here,
Though on the other hand,
I've seen egrets charm butterflies
To death.

What's more,
One can witness
Obscene, silvery fish
Leap and dazzle, filch flies, elude

Dense cloud cover,
Elephants and pigs lilt
From the river to the jungle,

I'm not
At liberty
To describe my mission—
Surveillance, eavesdropping, notes, notes—
Slow work.

Work, too, and wild;
Classified, top secret.
Health's failing: problems with my heart,
My eyes.

And you?
Up to no good?
Still the world by the balls?
Still using that old monocle?

Dear friend,
Do come visit.
Did I mention the trees?
You must see this place for yourself . . .
With love,