Reader’s familiar with Thomas Lux’s quick-witted images (Language without simile is like a lung/ without air) and his rambunctious, Cirque-Du-Soleil-like imagination (The Under-Appreciated Pontooniers) will find in his new collection, Child Made of Sand, not only the signature funny, provocative, and poignant super-surrealism that has made him, along with Charles Simic, James Tate, and Dean Young, one of America’s most inventive and humane poets, but they will also find in a surprising series of homages, elegies, rants, and autobiographical poems a new register of language in which time and mortality echo and reverberate in quieter notes. In West Shining Tree, we can hear this shift in register when he asks: I’ll head dead West and ask of all I see: / Which is the way, the long or the short way, / to the West Shining Tree?