Ingrid Swanberg's Awake is little pats and punches of darkbeauty interspersed amid lightruths. They are poems that grab me straight off, because they are not laid or written with a heavy pen. There is nothing cumbersome or tiresome about this verse, but rather, something invigorating and soul-lifting. Does that sound like a bunch of rhetoric? Try some: bitte dawn. slow turn of winter. the earth endures. rose light on breastfeathers under the sky. the sorrow of love. dark chime. gentle pat of snow flakes And this excerpt from her poem 'Fathom': "its surge unfathomed the sting of tears still...