Vision­ary per­cep­tion draws Sarah Lantz’s read­ers into a vibrant world reflect­ing the bor­der between divine per­fec­tion and human frailty. Sec­tion I com­pares the “…rain on the sea— / the horizon’s gone miss­ing,” to the lone­li­ness, stormi­ness, and false wor­ship of a child who so desires union with any­one or any­thing. Sec­tion II is notable for Lantz’s sen­su­al descrip­tions, sparkling lit­er­ary images, and evoca­tive lan­guage. Con­tem­plat­ing ​“The Moon’s Migra­tions,” the poet describes the moon’s oth­er side, “…for unlike the moon’s oth­er half / this side had no face / but the thin skin of ten­der­ness / and a wind to blow wil­lowy and dark.” In ​“Adam Is Warned,” the read­er is forced to face the temp­ta­tion anew, “…Remem­ber how the apple fit once / in your sun-drenched hand, / then sur­ren­der to its plea­sure, taste its red­dened fruit again.” Sex is ful­fill­ing tan­ta­liz­ing urges for union in nat­ur­al response to creation’s fer­tile, provoca­tive appear­ance. In ​“Geth­se­mane and Eden,” Mary and Eve respec­tive­ly share “…his­to­ry uncon­cerned that the dis­tinc­tion between crim­i­nals and heroes / is fre­quent­ly only fash­ion.” Nazi and present pol­i­tics speak mur­der only to those affect­ed. Lantz skill­ful­ly shapes mourn­ing, ques­tion­ing, and respond­ing cadences in this notable, beau­ti­ful­ly craft­ed collection.