A Meteorologist in the Promised Land

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.