Some of the splendor we all need A West Texas starscape, stunning by any measure, is emblematic of Walt McDonald’s plains. A lifelong celebration culminates in this, his best—and perhaps last—collection of new poems. At seventy, the poet affirms, we live by the mystery of grace even as we watch familiar stars blink out at dawn. For he believes "God knows we are dust / and counts our steps." In "Leaving the Middle Years," he writes, "At our age, / every day is grace and every breath / a blessing. Life is grass, stunningly brief / but abundant in so many ways." Walt writes about heroes—a mother who taught tumbling; family and friends gone to war; the brave at home who heal or console; others who rescue from war zones as many children as they can. Heroes, too, are those whose fidelity and joy find faces in these poems. Watching crows at dawn in Montana, a husband thinks of his wife inside their mountain cabin: If Ursula finds more gray she’ll go on humming, knowing it’s okay, our children three thousand miles away but fine, when they called last night. She comes outside with coffee, closing the door so softly even the crows don’t stop.