Hello everyone, hello you. Here we are under 
this sky. Where were you Tuesday? I was at the El Rancho 
Motel in Gallup. Someone in one of the nameless rooms 
was dying, slowly the ambulance came, just another 
step towards the end. An older couple asked me 
to capture them with a camera, gladly I rose 
about three inches and did and then back to my chair. 
I thought of Paul Celan, one of those poets 
everything happened to strangely as it happens 
to everyone. In German he wrote he rose one pain inch 
above the floor, I don’t understand but I understand. 
Did writing in German make him a little part 
of whoever set in motion the chain of people
talking who pushed his parents under the blue grasses 
of the Ukraine? No. My name is Ukrainian 
and Ukranians killed everyone but six people with my name. 
Do you understand me now? It hurts to be part 
of the chain and feel rusty and also a tiny squeak now