RECON in this chapbook published by Trainwreck Press is spare of explanation, an unencumbered song. Many lines strike as pure as he who lived their likeness on the cover would have said if you asked in Names where like a whale I put down my mouth / and called out deep to meditate a son. Moments of light and sound like etheric wheels in the sky…two hands held gold flares (Cogwheels), where the sky and opal border… lay on those who kindle light (Walk in Kilns) and toes sing, hands dance as might / a hymnist who plays on moss (The Sound of Light). That’s what breath in search of talk / like any unique thing means. Everything is song” (Talk) where, sometimes we dream what doesn’t exist …a great wake waking where ten generations walk…who I met at the head of this trail (Dream Song). We went to mires and fens, brown moss mats / that covered bed rock, up to our office on East Finnmark / in the birch belt among geranium and angelica…refuge of circumpolar, / the pseudo-frigida marsh and mallow. / We were milk vetch and hard fern (Pens to Write the Flowing). Thanks to John C. Goodman, editor of Trainwreck Press.
AEReiff 