I don’t want to talk about God or war. Instead I want to talk about the invention of coats. They’re comfortable. There’s a great deal of poetry there being not written on coats. The work that goes into comfort. There are no coatmakers in the world who wish to evoke their experience in verse. Coatmakers in sweatshops are not asking us to experience their experience. They’re asking us to wear it, be under it, wrap ourselves inside it, feel its comfort. The ghosted carnage of fingers that keeps us warm in the winter.