God

God has retired to Florida, like everyone else. He can't sleep. He watches TV. In the long poem that opens Debora Greger's sixth book, God, he has retreated to the swamps, where, in the lush particulars of the subtropics, a singular moral world is discovered. Wherever Greger is, she has a traveler's eye; her poetry finds the past beneath the present-where the "Eden of Florida," as the last poem ironically calls it, is an Eden with alligators. This is the work of a powerful, meditative poet, whose God is deceptively quiet, perfectly timed, and seriously amused.