Paul C. Howell
		Closely knit loopholes don't write things unless they're green or certain, soft or fleeting and no astrophysics, please, or optics though a girl can be nice or flowers even weeds but no politics leave that fatuity to us we are strictly not for sissies no casuistry or pseudology then unless it be discourse - so stick to your knitting of little holes and leave the guns for the men
		Wood Crumbs       "Ich eilt ihr nach,       ich las nur vom Boden auf jene Krume,       die deines Auges Gestalt hat und Adel,       ich nahm dir die Kette der Sprüche vom Hals       und säumte mit ihr den Tisch, wo die Krume nun lag."             - Paul Celan, ICH HÖRTE SAGEN aus Von Schwelle zu Schwelle, 1955 What do I fear? Fertile crumb Splinter, steel against hardwood Purple black sky, snap wind, good Clean snow, feet and fingers numb Armfuls of split logs, sizes of light And heat the shape of chain How this reading singes brain Whipped by pellets of ice Tiny sliver of maple in skin Tattooed and throbbing and growing within