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There’s a tight core of sound that anchors The Good News of the Ground. We feel it as a long marrow, which is underscored by the shape of the opening poems: long plummets; you hear them whistle with an overtone, like a stone falling down a well, and know that gravity is at work here, the gravity of earthly concern.
—Cole Swensen
The town is already set
for Christmas. The timer sends
Bach to the church bell
and people still come in, tempted
to find the old pews.
The pigeons, without coming in,
are a custom too
and heavily marked in a forum
they’re losing,
desire for sugar making them,
right on the street,
backs and beaks and wings.
All rights reserved. Reprinted with the permission of the author.
