A poet with a rather arch metaphysical sense of humor, Ruefle also reminds me at times (at least in this collection) of Edward Gorey or even Edward Lear (I don't mean that as dismissive!) She's quite comfortable writing an elegy for two "dead vowels," for example. "In a milk-white mist in the middle of the wood / there are two dead vowels" begins the singsong "Do Not Disturb." One suspects this poem is really about the old ae vowel linkage, and the constant turnover of the languages which carry the freight of human meaning. The poem is almost a children's poem, but not quite. It turns on the reader. Many of her poems do that, assume a veneer of gentle amusement or nonchalance, before they stick one with a philosophically trenchant shiv. Ruefle likes to paint nature's heedlessness of the human investement in it. It's one of her favorite blithe themes. This she shares with another poet with whom she deserves comparisons, Wislawa Szymborska. Both are keepers and rarely disappont.