In this collection of bohemian prayers and poetic invocations, God is both terrorist and tech support, head master and masseuse--a "delightfully deranged lover" who brings redemption to even the darkest corners of the psyche. In a world that looks more and more like a psychotropic house party, where "even the spiritual rock stars are slouching in their sofas," Reynolds calls on a God whose compassion doesn't stay in the churches and monasteries, orphanages and soup kitchens, but permeates the whole of creation, inviting an acceptance that extends into dungeons and disasters, private shames...

A humble intimacy with tiny things pervades these poems of simple transcendence where the Divine shimmers in the ordinary and the overlooked: roadside flowers and weasel bones, ancestral hauntings and a wooden floor, a fading moon and a parade of black ants. This book was born from a long cycle of retreat outside of the consumer matrix and read start to finish, serves as a kind of inner memoir of a time when wisdom and quiet heartbreak emerged from fading dreams and dilemmas, as darkness, sky and the small details of the natural world served as guru and monastery. Taken as a whole, the book...