The masterful poems of this gentle and fierce collection carry us
upward, with the flash of white wing against a dark hill, but also
downward with rain, through / shale and schist / to the deep
running / aquifer where roots / of birches stretch / to drink,
then, above us / unfurl tight buds. Again and again, Hardy
discovers her own incarnation of what Gerard Manley Hopkins calls
the dearest freshness deep down things and delivers it wrapped in
sparkling language, in which cold is sharp as ginger and a horse
leans over a fence, stretching her lips towards fireweed. -- Angela
BallThrough the title poem's scrap of moon tumbling across the
grass, waiting for any gate to open, readers encounter poems of a
mare's heart and keen instinct well out of the starting gate. From
expectation and celebration to love and loss, Hardy's first full
collection embraces the artful details of lived experience, the
hurt that keeps us] whole. -- Jerah Chadwick.
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