I read this book as a song of praise for all the small things we pass unnoticed, for the people and times and blessings we often miss. It’s also a joyful shout-out to nature, to farmers and fields. Finally, it’s a love letter to the poet’s husband.

Images like this will stay with me:

“. . . needing only / the rush of water / over strawberries / I picked myself . . .”

“ . . . and I’ll rest on the banks of the pond, / my mind at last like the head / of the snapping turtle breaking the surface / for air, and sending wave after wave / back to shore where my only question now / will be whether or not to leap in / and add my ripples to his.”

“. . . the window I left open // an inch or so all day / so I could listen // to winter rain erasing / months of piled-up snow . . .”

This is the first I’ve read of James Crews’s poems, but I’m already looking forward to his next book. ( )