These poems capture the beauty in the mundane, the sacred in the simple stuff, and welcome in the existential bullshit. They acknowledge that getting knee-capped by chronic illness, and watching loved ones leave us, sucks, but also that squirrels still fuck about and birds still defy gravity. And watching them do those things, during a peachy-tinted sunset, fills our souls back up so we can tolerate the nonsense of life.
Because –