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""Her"" represents fractured fragments of Michael James Kaiser's paeans to love. Like his first anthology, ""To Be Me,"" these introspective poems are tonal invocations to women, both real and imagined. The phrasing and flow quietly touches the reader's heart, sometimes with a whisper and a caress; sometimes with a raw ache. The feelings are fervent, true and universal. Musically it's cello, Spanish guitar, stand-up bass, and a woodwind or two. It would play in a small jazz club against an indigo backdrop with a mood that matches. Yet Michael James Kaiser -- the man and his work -- is so...

Imagine a road trip. Harry Chapin at the wheel. Emily Dickinson rides shotgun. The old VW van has room enough for Carl Sandburg and Studs Terkel. Jammed way back, buffeted by guitars, backpacks, and typewriters is Michael James Kaiser. He furiously takes notes all the while hearing whispers from Elizabeth Barrett in one ear and Townes Van Zandt in the other. This hodge-podge is too wistful - too ruggedly romantic - for words. Almost. Because someone took it all in. It incubates for years as tentative poetic doodles before a confidence that comes from aging pours forth in poem after poem after...