nal in the earliest and now most necessary sense of that word. In these poems, Hunter imagines the actual earth and weathers of language back to their origins in first substances and first light--their Edens, if you will. And quite wonderfully, this imagination succeeds in vivid company; the canons of the art chime in; the shimmer of love inspires. And yet all of Some Flowers is accomplished in the most effortless and welcoming idiom I have read in a very long time. This is a book to keep near and to believe.

-Donald Revell