Hands of Years

In Hands of Years, the poems of Riley Bounds stand tall and slim as votive candles. Each one runs a straight course to revelation.

Spirit is present when strays bring songs and screams to the landfill before dying alone; when nobility shares a house with eternity, though children must not sing at funerals; when an angel saws through his wings in sorrow over us.

Broken glass, amniotic fluid, dead dog, become sacramental. For every three chapels the poet burns, he leaves one: a celestial cathedral where Spirit descends to the wreckage and bereavement of human life. In the end, the poet holds the hands of his years and ours, becomes the voice he sings, dances with the Dancer. Incarnation happens. We celebrate with him. Russell Rowland, author of Train of All Cabooses, Mountain Blue, We're All Home Now, and Wooden Nutmegs
Within these pages hidden fire beckons. Stark beauty. Menacing weight. Were the human story a house braving a long winter, poems like these would glint and chime, suspended along ramshackle eaves: lean, translucent, crystalline. Perhaps, seeping a little. Amid all our desolations, Riley Bounds offers us both anthem and anodyne. Laurie Klein, author of Where the Sky Opens
With expert precision, striking images, and lineation that adds weight to every word, Hands of Years takes what is perhaps the oldest story - man's yearning reach across the chasm separating darkness from light - and makes it feel fresh, vibrant, and intensely personal. These poems invite the reader into the full spectrum of the human experience, from the shadowy depths of pain and loss, to the boundless horizons of grace and joy. Riley Bounds is an incredible poet, blessed with a keen eye and an open heart, and when he tells us "I've burned a lot of chapels / but I left this one standing," we are all the better for it. Matthew J. Andrews, author of I Close My Eyes and I Almost Remember