If there is a center of gravity in this collection of prose poems, it is a cancer diagnosis, but looking outward, there is the gravity that keeps the spheres from flying apart, there is the gravity of our collective maladies, there is the way we inflict injuries on ourselves and others. The poem, "Crickets" says, "You're one of God's creatures, yet the angels and imps outnumber you by a long shot. They're out there jumping in and out of your notice like quarks and anti-quarks." And who is Doctor who keeps the world in balance? It is exuberance, not just of being alive, but of the wonderousness of loons, robins, cats, crickets, and human creatures. There is never a right answer to how to negotiate this life, but there is radiance everywhere in these poems, to light the way.