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.

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

 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.

So you permit him to walk you home,
Assenting as he hovers at the door,
As if assent were all you had to lock

That night you giggled quietly in your sleep—
Lovely transparent dreamer, I could see
The singed-beige kittens tumbling there again…

A day painted like a child’s room
In bright colours; red pillar box
Where Loomis mailed your pristine letters