Every poem is in the form of an envelope that employs a salutation and closing familiar to every poet. In the envelope is an impassioned letter, not pure or open, but with a boldness that changes the letter into an epistle and subdues its conceptual cleverness. Every poet has written the form letter as repetitively as they concatenate through the three seasons this book moves. There doesn't seem to be a definitive reason for the division into seasons, much like the motive for the divulged details remains undefined; but there is much in the book about a wanting to capture something that cannot be captured. Detail crumbs are dropped at the perfect pace to keep piquing interest, and the book ends just as the conversation you had with that stranger traveller you crossed with for a night does. ( )