this book is full of poems from a man at ease with the daily task, greasing the wheels with a dirty rag just to grease the wheels, an awakening of age itself, poems engaged with the sensibility of the seasons.The improvisations of life and the reliable/ever present necessity to do so. A nod to the recurring, the rise and fall we encounter throughout this constant revolution and Goulds usual slight humor revved up by the witness himself trudging through yet "another small war." Ah yes...least we forget the subtle apocalypse.