Kevin Varrone’s endearing little collection feels like a nest woven from whatever’s on hand: twigs and grasses, but also unraveled cassette tape. The nimble music of Varrone’s poems is a pleasurable vehicle for the heavy matter of mourning extinctions—the passenger pigeon, the dodo—while attending to the given world with devotion and curiosity (all this looking, I thought I might see / a pair of chuck t’s thrown over a power line). The self set in motion by a long, solitary train ride accesses the redemptive quality of observation: a quality that both raises possibilities (a house for sale / along the tracks / by water // is that a life // of mine?) and makes home shine more brightly (harbor or harbinger, forsythia / I miss you). Like the eponymous site to which one brings spent bottles and cans, expecting a meaningful accretion of dimes and nickels, REDEMPTION CENTER is a humble and hopeful operation.