How do we see the things that show us the other things we are among? The poems of Grant Souders’s first book are a conjuring. Service is born in utterance, with an opening eye, with the bareness that is there: the root of being in the word is. There’s an implication of narrative arc in the poet’s semblance of creation myth, beginning in nakedness and ending in everything. Here is a book that finds itself by leaving this world and reaching for the cosmos, if only to look back.