Burn so green. Burn numbers, burn faces, burn like Montag did so many years ago -- mulch their ash until they are food for whiskers between your toes. Fold the paper in origami shapes until they are blades and bulbs and branches; fold the paper into hats and planes and quilt them into blankets for lovers. Strip them of colour and print Bibles on them, drowning them in water that will not dissolve. Pull them tight across lips and blow on them for reeds like thick blades of grass until they hum like the wings of hummingbirds and bumblebees and fill the air with audible chaff. Send them covered in poetry in a brown paper bag with that pretty girl you married long ago for her lunch she didn't expect on that tired morning. All this because you are blood and soil and earth, and allow no less to tame you.