Like their namesake, the poems of In Cannon Cave are acoustic chambers, gourds in which experience resonates. Here is a voice singing to existence, longingly, caressingly, not to typify or capture it, but to give it dwell, the audible afterlife of language. These poems venture far beyond the comforts of romanticism to find a new compassion. When night comes, something speaks from that soft, fragrant wilderness. It says, the heart is not a door...
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