territory 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."