From arcing fireworks to a bat in the belly of a church organ, Emily Kerlin’s poems explore the expansiveterritory of farewell. Each poem enshrouds the reader in a mystery of loss, some minuscule, others astronomical, coaxing them toward revelation. And in what striking forms these revelations manifest: a boy lost forever as 'Mice scuttle in the hay,/ brittle leaves scratch/ in the autumn chill'; a husband struggling with 'the constant problem/ of breath'; a plague and its wake of 'crocuses pushing purple into this cold March morning.' Kerlin’s poetry compels you to lean in a little closer, to listen and look with more intention, then rewards you with 'a spill of starlight' and 'the fragile lace of the human lung.'