Jerred Metz’s poems speak an elemental language of rocks, water, bones and blood. The inner life of dreams, prophecy, and memory figure prominently as do sun, moon, stars and angels. Lines often blossom kaleidoscopically with startling juxtapositions. Worldly experience, “dirt upon a crumbled earth,” paid for “with fool’s gold,” is transformed and transcended in many of these poems, evoking a mystery beyond words. ~ Michael Castro, author of Human Rites In this, his fifth book of poems, Jerred Metz comes as close to speaking in an inner voice as is humanly possible. Like a sensate scarecrow, he observes everything, "deep/in love with solitary things." Theodore Roethke would love these poems, where trees speak, the moon blossoms, and "His hand cradles a fish." He is "the seahorse,/unfurling its tail, whipping the/water to waves that rush against the shore." In this remarkable book, Jerred Metz “harvests jewels” in perfectly polished poems. ~ Howard Schwartz, author of The Library of Dreams: New and Selected Poems 1965-2013