It clings like a sheath-dress, 
this synthetic softness 
all of us wear in the office.

A problem muy adentro, she tells him, deep
inside her—a metal loop like a piece
of Satan, but the doctor who was supposed

The things I saved up there—mantis legs, cat fur,
porcupine quills tied with twine. I thought
this was religion. To climb through leaves

One morning the stove decided not to cook.
The children were startled.
The stove had always cooked—

Yes, the zucchinis grow heavy and wicked,
and yes, a porcupine parses the orchard
one rummy apple at a time.

In the pass, fishtailing around corners, in the whiteout
of maybe and two-way traffic, I said yes

 Dolphins at every corner, bees
 The size of fists, and pinecones
 Bigger than the Pope’s crown—

It made you less as well as more than human

Celan's,
meeting with Heidegger:
by John Felstiner's account

Silence and ungridded space, from the tipped back glass
Of cross-hair sights angled through flensed white birch.