for Sy Safransky Fire has entered the earth, the grass, the hearts of men and women; paralysis fire that calls for white liquor, that stills the hands of work and snags the eyes of invention with cool, dark sleep. It is now a game of waiting. You rise in the morning and step into your duties; yet something important remains behind; your green, energetic soul, spread out naked, sweating, on the snow bank of your bed. Let him sleep. Have mercy on yourself. He has reasons for his lethargy; eleven months that end in fire. Are you to be consumed by this desire for desire alone?