These poems are superannuated haiku, missives from the velveteen earth, and sketches of a divine immortality. They are purlieus of eye-bending syllabics combined in hyphenated ghost-like form. Curved out in their final destiny, they smack of mild confession from a former journalist-turned-poet. These verses sing of nocturnal vision, searing with eternal life on the map of botanical weather; sunny expatriates in the demesne of feminist struggle sing of triumph in the purple sunrise, with wild tongues of glory. Like an origami crane, these poems are carefully crafted with bewitching geometry and want to fly to the moon.