These poems refuse sleep. They remind us that life is a cycle of filling and emptying, of finding and having and losing, and that even as hope dips out of sight like a loon, "love / in the end...might still exist." Falsework, in construction, is a temporary but necessary form that allows what will become the lasting edifice to be built upon it, after which the support structure is disassembled and disposed of. In these poems, a life is built upon the dome of a past that finally fades, while--for now--the new vault, radiating sunlight, remains.
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