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In James Armstrong's pellucid poetry the drifting of autumn leaves shares space with the baroque architecture of nineteenth century England. A woman peruses a book of pharmaceuticals in a coffee shop looking for hints of happiness. And a naked woman wearing hip boots stares out of the 1940s in a photograph hung in a Michigan bar. Twilight is always moving the shadows of our urban lives out toward the country, our inherited past, where a deer or a heron waits like an angel glimpsed through the fog. Armstrong's poems elucidate the mystery and beauty of borders -- temporal and historical, as well as geographical -- while his pastoral sensibility floods our senses with images of the natural world, seemingly stopping time, edifying us, and helping us -- for a few moments anyway -- to transcend our enervated contemporary lives. Reading this book is like diving into a deep lake. It cleanses the soul.