My sister Janis called me from Berlin and said to turn on the news. You could see the thick flurries of snow that were falling there and the flat feathers of peoples' breaths issuing from their mouths as they took turns swinging pick-axes, standing on top

When we lie down under the wind the trees swaying looking out over the fields soft cobweb of a brain exposed to hail exposed to snow trying to back away from it unable knowing the earth (the face it will take) our