THROUGH THE CRACKS

The result is this book. Of course, they found that the last thing you get to know is what comes first, and though they wander around a bit, the poems drift and glide to the places we see. Out of the young they have come, out of uncles and aunts, out of summers and winters, and out of the conversations at both home and on the road about all the daily parts we play that make us think about the things that are the best we ever saw. They have no noble aspirations: they do not try to establish values, improve virtue, or urge holy mysteries. Perhaps they fell into the places they knew they wanted to go.