Fall Foliage Called Bathers and Dancers

My poems are often dreams; my dreams are poems Alexandria Peary tells us in her marvelous first book. These poems describe a world resembling out own beneath which she finds endless off-kilter surprise and beauty. Outside she writes in one in one startling moment the driftwood struggled like arms & legs and later a recorded voice looks just like a piece of tinfoil lying in the sun / in which you could go swimming. Ive long admired Alexandria Pearys intelligence her evocative skills and her gift for discovering in the everyday such dreamlike frequently frightening moments.