In Paisley Rekdal's second book of poems, all the flavors of one's expectations, every conceivable misconception and desire, each relationship, loss and spectacle are brought forth naturally, as though they had simply stepped from behind some trees. The poems frequently find themselves standing in Japanese block prints, or in Delos, or before a painting by Caravaggio, or inside the tale of Atalanta and Meleager. Rekdal's is a poetry of subtlety and grace, but shocking in its directness, its refusal to obscure or deny the difficult life to which self-knowledge must bring us. It is a poetry born not of mere technique, but of the unrelenting necessity to know and then to speak.