Beginning from our collective tendency to leap out of this very moment, the poems of us clumsy godsreach for knowing-both attainable and untouchable. In Ash Good's memory/dream of where "we'd be good to each other," clear-edged vessels gravitate into a cosmos of ghosts, danger, trauma, pleasure. The voice grows out of grounded landscape to straddle the both/and nature of space/time while the body senses "skin between dimensions" capable of bridging past/future lineage and altering tired patterns in ode to what's vast, connected, messy, holy and right here.