Poetry. Dan Beachy-Quick's ARROWS rests in the palm of the hand like a shard of ancient pottery, caressing antiquity into the present, reminding us of the impossibility of separating ourselves from outdated ways of knowing. Here, in increments, we are enchanted by the humming of bees and the vibrating strings of lyre and bow. Arrows, eros, a rose: a hidden homonym impels these poems, just as those echoes enfold the overlaps of meanings they are...
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Poetry