path through the interpenetrated dreams of public, doomsday time and private, organic time. Written in a season of wildfire smoke punctuated by gunfire, grieving, and a child's questioning spirit, the book moves to the countervailing rhythms of household, eros, pleasure and charm, casting a wayward grin at the catastrophic comedy of our days. Though he's not really that tough, Jared Stanley rides elemental tones through " the desert roses, semi-wilted, wonderful, yellowed, well, you know / suffering to cover the suffering."