Robert Love creates poems that may be as good as any now in American Literature. “Cinders,” while completely different than Williams, “Widows Lament in Springtime,” is just as powerful. Love’s poem, “Four Elk Dreams,” about elk hunting then dreaming about the elk turning into people that give voice, share empathy, and understanding about using them for food, ends as an other-worldly type of experience for a few moments with a cognizant idea that he should eat something else. “Reading Bukowski: Lunchbreak” has Love reading a well-worn book and other than the title he never gives the big guy a mention but turns it into an homage amidst a break with logging gear. “The Pine Martin on the Gut pile,” wisps you into a Montana scene, you read it, and know it happened, and it is simply not like anything else.