Poetry. Our senses entrust to us the world that the heart minds, and so gives us a point of view, the "sight we hope to see through (to) / Always." Deeply attentive to form and music, each of these poems, written between the early eighties and mid-nineties, serves as a trust for the mending of that sense of separateness. Ever the stranger in yet another strange place-in subway and orchard, ER and library, cemetery and classroom-they ask: "What is the shape /" of the story? "Who is mindful of me?" and sometimes answer: "Thank you, I have enjoyed / imagining all this.