Pieces That Still Know My Name

A snowplow lifting its blade at the township line. A laundromat at 2 a.m. The shoes by the door. The good charger. Each of the eighty pieces in this book arrives twice: first as a Whisper, a small scene in prose, then as an Echo, the poem it leaves behind. Five movements, from the world around us to the people between us, the heart, the soul, and the last echoes. Read the space between them, too.