DOE takes the world as through a magnifying glass: the insect wing of the world. If love were a home, and the tiny exchanges or passings-barely-by, or the word behind the thing? And then behind that?
I have wrapped fear into linen and hoped it into lavender, saved for funerary.
I love when poets turn their pen to compose prose. I have yet to be disappointed with the result.
Lowe takes a narrative of change, loss, regret and pain and spins it on a loom of perfectly hewn sentences that you forget sometimes that it isn't poetry.
We gave each other wedding rings made of ice.
The author was kind enough to send me this work of art in a PDF as it is unfortunately no longer available for purchase. What a shame. I would very much like a tactile version of this work in my library to sit amongst the offerings penned by other great authors from around the globe. This deserves a place there.
Raindrops pried out of metal claw settings, their collections unfitted and released into light.