i have wrestled with the way clouds weep

<p class=ql-align-justify>This is my garden among rubble writes Judy Nahum in this intricate and beautiful collection. And indeed the world conjured between these pages is in a constant state of transformation. Sea shells shatter into speech rocks crumble into mirrors relationships begin and end arias slides into the elegiac. Nahum's poems expand and contract in scope as the poet's tender attention roams the earth and climbs into the stratosphere. The speaker and her beloveds reckon with survival/ the sun's last wave of migrants. In this time of upheaval uncertainty destruction and creation Nahum's poems remind me how to live: wrestle and weep forage and weave notice write sing and love. Her collection resists resolution but takes us generously to the cusp of something holy reverberating.</p><p class=ql-align-justify></p><p class=ql-align-justify>--Mónica Gomery author of <em>Might Kindred</em> & <em>Here is the Night and the Night on the Road</em></p><p class=ql-align-justify></p><p class=ql-align-justify></p><p class=ql-align-justify></p><p class=ql-align-justify> When we cannot decide [whether] to face the mundane terrors of the world or to flee into the lonely woods altogether may we turn to this chapbook for herein Judy stares down both fierce and gentle. Nahum is at the treeline: a mouthful of growing flowers remembering love and yearning to seed a heaving world.</p><p class=ql-align-justify></p><p class=ql-align-justify>- Ken Yoshikawa author of <em>Monster Colored Glasses</em></p>