Kathryn Regina emailed me a kid photo and here’s what I wrote.
The light from my lamp blows the sail across its reflection. Your blade of grass is giving you to my blade. I ride on a blue rectangle across the plaster mask. The sun has a real sun somewhere, just like I have a mother.
Somewhere the support structure is having coffee and weather. I have an S and an s. I can move across the desert.
The grass is glistening, why is it glistening like sushi.
Hello, unusual request. I have never met your mother.
Kathryn Regina’s project is alive at Wunderkammer. I will tell you more about this later.
I’ve been rereading Kathryn Regina’s chapbook, As I Said. It’s free and it’s online, so if you want to read it, go here. (Yes, it’s issuu: if you don’t want to get dizzy, click on a page, then move the slider at the top of the screen to the left.)
Here are some lines I really like:
An ant is crawling into a hole looking for something
Something is written in the dirt and it’s nothing mystical
says the ant whose whole life is mystical 
“You are moving around like one of those white butterflies
so close to being a moth.”
“Aren’t all butterflies moths the way squares are rectangles?”
“The way they handle light is different.”
If she looks at me long enough I will become something different
like a window pane or the reflection of a tree in the kitchen faucet
“Not completely different, just added to.”