What better buoy above an afternoon slump, in this clenched world, than “a heavy lemon that rolls off of / God’s counter and hangs / in the blue for you.” I can think of no greater imperative for the lost day than this now possible symmetry of commands, to stay wide open, fetch the stick snapped back. No realer capital than “fists around nickels” that Anada Werner is so quick to vanish behind an earful, unfurl. Be as lending. Punt your mind out the window and wait for it—the boomeranged unidiomatic catch, ecstatic patience of this come-around buzz at the door.