Willett whirs and waxes rhapsodic, yet never writes from disembodied fancy. He converses with what he classifies knowing that, if we’re lucky, our understanding falls within the margin of error.

These poems by Willett remind us that the elegy is a living poetic form, needed as much now as it ever was. Perhaps even more.

Is Willett a Christian writer, or someone who uses Christian tropes to explore his (sometimes) spiritual experience?