BRÂNCUŞI AND THE BIRD                                                                            the sculptor puts his hands on the red                                                                            oak block before him,                                                                            meant to be woman, eve,                                                                            but jumps back, acrid scent                                                                            infusing the plaster workbench   ars—dalta-ţi cade din mînă                                                                              burnt the moment his calloused palms                                                                            meet the wood. the oak, scarlet […]