Silverchest

From the "squalor of leaves" in November, the "spell the leaves can make/ shuddering," and the "single leaf that/ won't stop tossing," to the stars that "each/ day become again invisible, while going nowhere" and the stars that "have been there, glittering, relentless, all along," to "Better wish again" and, a few pages later, "Make a wish," this new work from Los Angeles Book Prize winner Phillips (Double Shadow) is beautifully, breathtakingly of a piece. Despite all those wishes, this collection finds Phillips in a melancholy mood ("The snow fell like/ hope when it's been forsaken"). There's a general sense of resignation that relationships will end as they will always do ("making you wonder what fear/ is for, what prayer is"), even as the world and the stars stand by, solidly, dependably. The poems might seem too consistently downcast if it weren't for Phillips's superb craft, his ability to observe the interior and exterior worlds so keenly and infuse each line with reverberant acceptance and humanity. And then there's the little uplift at the end: the single leaf that won't stop tossing, casting its spell, is "you."