In Moya Cannon's new collection, Hands, the commonplace is
transfigured by an attentiveness that jolts us into wonder. The
poems sing of deep connections: the impulse to ritual and pattern
that, across centuries, defines us as human; a web of
interdependences that sustain the 'gratuitous beauty' of the
planet. Hands travels in time and space, mapping journeys we make
as ageing, illness, and the deaths of parents shift our responses
to our place in the fabric of the world, where we live in the grace
of love and sunlight.
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