Celebration as invitation: it’s a pattern that recurs throughout exhalations, as when the speaker in “first light” celebrates his infant daughter’s first time to hear “songs // of morning birds /drown out // the rocking chair’s / creak.” Through such intimate celebrations, Aaron M. Moe invites the reader also to register, above the creaking of our machines, a more ultimate singing. —H. L. Hix
Spare and sinewy, these poems are like origami, “a cosmic breath / folded within a mere Syllable.” They unfold into birdsong and bark scent and the Mandelbrot set and bright murmurations, a glorious exploration of humanhood and parenthood and returning home to our planet, to ourselves. —Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, author of hush and Naked for Tea
