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Mittens   winter came, stretched its frames, wove misty threads into the damp   wood fogged windows, we didn’t recognise each other by our arms   which were too big, too baggy, all borrowed onesies, into which we would grow, if they fitted us,   which, eventually, they will would a verb like the sound of sleeves over   wet glass like wet sleeves in a mouth, sucking through the frames we saw   snow portraits of mothers in parks, wind-ruffled, on the verge of, but held   by ribbons, which led to hats, in der mitte of gloves saw the supply-threads   of winter, linty and tested our roles, tentatively, along the midlines of mittens           Stationary     what is a domicile? a domicile is a star- crossed ten of clubs what is a crossing?   in the flubbed dialect of these forests a crossing is the word tree and why   do homelands play cards in the air? no one ever saw the homelands go home a tree   in the forest of neighbouring languages is a club in this suit out of its wood   someone makes crosses on a map the countries fill in their domicile and   put the stationery back into its pencil case what is stationary? put it back   with nelly sachs   *   These poems were selected for inclusion in the 2017 Translation Issue by Daniel Medin, a contributing editor of The White Review He is Associate Director for the Center for Writers and Translators at the American University of Paris, and an editor for The Cahiers Series and Music & Literature