"Here is the music of our earth and its creatures—the field, the wren, the farm, the kit, the fawn, the insomniac, the soldier in his coffin, the trapper and the trapped. Individually, each of these poems finds its own ideal shape, its own ideal melody. But what gives this book its final, aching beauty is the closely mortised fit of the poems, one to all others, and the profoundly sane, faithfully tender voice of Wyatt Prunty. The concluding stanza of 'Time's Train' will endure in me forever: 'More fold than tear, so no one going anywhere,/Only seeming to. Rails parallel: time's train./ On the porch his wife sings, brushing her hair./ And everything he's thought he thinks again.'
What an incredibly beautiful piece of work."