GROUND WORK, she calls it, but Casey Knott often ushers us into her cunning & wide-wheeling perceptions on the back of a hawk or owl or crow, some predator seeking sustenance in the confusion below: "noise and beastly, invasive / and weedy.” Likewise potent are the other celestial phenomena, moon, stars, storm clouds, & when this Conjure Woman hangs “wet sheets on a clothesline,” she can “step back and watch air craft a life / for them.” Everywhere these poems churn up fertility & desire, "an idea / attached to my chest trying to claw its way out.” In so doing they reinvigorate what looks like ravaged America; they celebrate its weed-grown lanes, its shacks in collapse. When an artist's so alert as this, so wonderstruck, even a strip of sun through a broken blind can set her on a quest, her “skin an unexpected / welcome shiver, as if a tiger / flexed around her bones.”