An island that emerges, disappears, reemerges, green trees in flames, sheep that change color--death is considered here in the mythical realm of change and possibility. Rooms are never entirely empty of those who once inhabited them, and even window smudges take on the visage of a lost loved one. McCoy's poems are a richly hued consideration of "mysterium tremendum / through a shadow of glass." -- Marilyn McCabe, author of Glass Factory and Perpetual Motion