The poems in Norma Wilson's Continuity are like red-tail hawks effortlessly riding the thermals of high summer, spiraling through memory and experience, through past and present. Sewing a dress with a grandmother, making blackberry pies, hunting for morels, encountering sumac and goldenrod juxtaposed against a basalt bluff, contemplating pre-historic etchings on cave walls-these poems deliver a sustained meditation on the fragility and joy of being...