Holes in his fingers. From trimming 1,400 hot plastic bottles (for $13 a day). Holes in diaries. Curated voids at times shield y’all (from elves or selves). Holes in my teapot. Diced ginger burning my lips (that lipless visage once subdued me). Holes in bark leaves. Caterpillars break their fast at dusk (bask in shrill […]