To Willing Conflators Of Emily Dickinson And Jeremy Todd (nine hundred and sixty eighth letter)

Dear Friends,
Truth is such a rare thing.   It’s delightful to tell it.
I find ecstasy in living and these Not Sent Letters.  They’re joy enough.  How do most people live without any thoughts?  There are many people in the world.  You must notice their shadows in the street and online.  How do they live?  How do they get the strength to put on their clothes in the morning and face the light?
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.  If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.  These are the only ways I know it.  Is there any other way?
Are you too deeply occupied to say if my Verse is alive?  I enclose my name in this Not Sent Letter, asking you, if you please, to tell me what is true?