Wiman, a professor at Yale Divinity School, writes exquisite poems about childhood, time, aging, death (what else????).  Reading his poems while sitting across the brook in VT, I was challenged to not write down a phrase or several from every page.  His work reminded me of how poetry differs from prose and how necessary it is—reading a phrase (e.g. ‘timestorm’, ‘shinedying’, ‘her backside fossilized in the lakeside’, ‘lunatic acuity’, ‘whatever rivers through the nerves of birds the moment before migration.’) that makes you sigh and you feel shaken, stirred, stopped, moved.  A book worth re-reading and savoring again and again.