Carter's recent collection is a sensuous flow of imagery, extracted from his Midwestern roots and refined through an obscure Italian verse form. The book extends its first invitation, the magnetic "Improvisation", and once the embrace is welcomed carries the reader into transitional realities of shifting perception. From the curious and sinister "Tankroom" to the palpable eroticism of "Candle", Carter's voice is at once dark and unyielding; a plaintive calling from a shadowed nightscape, reaffirming our own long night of the soul.

Jared Carter's second collection shows him growing more and more comfortable writing as a formal poet. There are stanzas that show the control of great contemporary formalists like Hollander is Wilbur. While none of his poems as a whole reach that stature, he seems well on his way.

It is when he turns to free verse that he seems to stumble. Rather than finding it liberating, he oftens seems to lose his rhythm, have trouble determining where to break lines ... in other words, he has the same problem all but the best free verse poets have. Not that he is asking, but if he asked me, I'd tell him to stick to formal verse. I would similarly recommend this book to people who enjoy neoformalism.