The Alphabetizer Speaks, Patty Seyburn. I have my reasons have never known starvation nor plenitudeand unless the order of the world changes, I won’t. If the order of the world changes, I will disappear, the way some vowels elide into their word-bodies or an individual blade recedes into a field each season. Will my daughter carry on this way? I cannot yet tell her qualities— if she prefers scale to chance, sequence to random. And this may mean nothing. There is such thing as a calling though I cannot speak for prophets or martyrs. I am my profession. In my dream, all events coterminous— no linear narrative, preceding or next. Five Poems, Dean Young. Five Poems, Kay Ryan. Dear Someone, Deborah Landau. Four Poems, Bob Hicok.