In Marlene Cookshaw's work time is slowed so that you can walk around in the moment, rub your knuckles on its nap, trace its lattice-work of airs and pressures, and touch the sensitive places left by accidents and old loves. Life seems to come forward to meet speech, even as speech is reaching to its edge. You breathe the salt tang of the particular.

"See where the mind goes? Between the lovely knots, a silk always strong enough to bear its weight. That throwing's what I love, what I would give my life to. Lacinato. Champion. Rougette. Red cabbages dense and beautiful as turbans, roses, words, like a row of toothy kisses, sweet, unmanageable, raw."

-from "Clear to me now"