David Axelrod writes achingly beautiful poems on the growing shadow of climate collapse. His lamentations address our refusal to turn away from the insatiable desire for consumption and material wealth, asking, Aren’t we the fire front, gnawing through dry scrub? Yet this collection, as it brings us into the intimacy of earth’s memory and its survivors reveals the many ways we might learn to praise the abundant sacredness of the greater-than-human world. Like the prophets of old who cried out in the wilderness, Axelrod offers possible visions of healing for a future world / where a young aspen grove // yields back all of summer’s light into air. -Todd Davis, Native Species