David Mutchlecner has been developing theopoetics for over twenty-five years, a radical openness to the world that finds form in the field. Grave in the Sway arrives like a report from the borderlands of consciousness, ever present to what can be asked. But for all the reconciliation between mind and world such a poetics demands, the poems here still sometimes disappear in agape:
What lives for me
when I get rid
of even the wine skin?
What is the wine skin? What
pours into what?
