Andrew Grace leads us back into the heartland, where things still grow, where locusts, biblical and otherwise, tear at the edges, where "the corn outgrew us, clogging our horizon / until all we could see was our small box of sky." How did we drift so far from this world? Understated, sure-footed, these poems bring us close to a mythical American landscape, so that each of us can become seers again.
really some of the best poetry i've read in years, from one of the nicest people ever. it gives a real sense of the beauty of the midwest. like a clyfford still painting or great lake swimmers song