To Anna from Gwenda

To Anna,

Two years before my walk I found a bumpy road that led me across from your suite. Here I played L’Orange on an antique gramophone beheaded from a priest. Enigmatic messages echoed off the walls over an old soul, some 19th century beast. Now I feast at this window, though am I gazing out or a’mazing in? In what kind of ink could such a cipher seal the skin? Granted, if you let me explain I could take off my HAT. How is it that, the mad writer hasn't left a single clue? Tell me, how could I not crypto-write a slight for you?

Sincerely,

Gwenda