A Meteorologist in the Promised Land

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In these poems, the reader carries her ‘lone heartbeat’ while sifting through the confusion of a psychically, physically rubbled world. There is loss, transcribed literally as spaces in the poems, because in truth there is no ‘word-/for-word translation’. But in this stark landscape there is the ‘body’s strange persistence’; there are meanings made and held close, words collected ‘in secret’. Language equals transcendence and the bridge on which all other things are built: ‘tell me// your name’.