Joy Manesiotis is a poet whose eye is generous as well as sensitive to the perfect detail – the “small glass beads,” the “lit windows.” Her vision relies on sound: the ear first catches “voices loosed across dusty paths” and the head then turns to them. It is this weaving of the senses, this consciousness, that makes Manesiotis’ poems so easy to inhabit. The poet finds home in moments rather than places and lives in a kind of timelessness, as if everything she has ever touched still wraps itself around her.