Waiting

“Bodiless, like wisps of smoke on windless days / they rose,” begins one poem in this collection. “Not the holy spirit or the granules of the past, / but strands of memory freed up of their own will.” With his trademark blend of poignancy and humor, and what a fellow poet has called the “quiet fireworks” of his language, Moran has drawn together many floating strands—not just memories, but also dreams, emotions, events, reactions, musings, images—and woven them into poetry.