Book Description: In his second book of narrative, lyric poetry, Richard Blanco explores the familiar, unsettling journey for home and connections, those anxious musings about other lives: â€śShould I live here? Could I live here?â€ť Whether the exotic (â€śIâ€™m struck with Maltese fever â€¦I dream of buying a little Maltese farmâ€¦) or merely different (â€śToday, home is a cottage with morning in the yawn of an open windowâ€¦â€ť), he examines the restlessness that threatens from merely staying put, the fear of too many places and too little time. The words are redolent with his Cuban heritage: Marina making mole sauce; TĂa Ida bitter over the revolution, missing the sisters who fled to Miami; his father, especially, â€śhis hair once as black as the black of his oxfordsâ€¦â€ť Yet this is a volume for all who have longed for enveloping arms and words, and for that sanctuary called home. â€śSo much of my life spent like this-suspended, moving toward unknown places and names or returning to those I know, corresponding with the paradox of crossing, being nowhere yet here.â€ť Blanco embraces juxtaposition. There is the Cuban Blanco, the American Richard, the engineer by day, the poet by heart, the rhythms of Spanish, the percussion of English, the first-world professional, the immigrant, the gay man, the straight world. There is the ennui behind the question: why cannot I not just live where I live? Too, there is the precious, fleeting relief when he can write "â€¦I am, for a moment, not afraid of being no more than what I hear and see, no more than this:..." It is what we all hope for, too.