With a pilgrim's ardent aspiration, Charles Hansmann's poems negotiate the tensions between belief and doubt, the transient and the permanent. With practiced calm, the poet observes and preserves the verities of place, memory, and the passage of the seasons. Whether he is recalling factory work "in air so heavy metal/filings can float on it," or meditating on the beauties of a Sonoran winter, Hansmann compels readers to consider each living moment's mysteries: "Some times of day don't show themselves direct./They're just reflected on/the surface, skittish//moments slinking down to drink, rippling/indistinct the instant//that we see them." - Jane Satterfield, author of Assignation at Vanishing Point and Daughters of Empire: A Memoir of A Year in Britain and Beyond