Wilson writes from the periphery of an open field in this extended investigation into longing and loss, love and doubt.  As the poet muses, «we wonder / what we're not / in the field,» and reading The Hundred Grasses, we are made to wonder as much about what exists within us as how we’re shaped by what we lack. For Wilson, the act of looking can animate what is seemingly static. Stillness becomes not absence but fullness. These poems shape...
