Lewis's book of poems is a pleasure and also a challenge, for readers must decipher the oddly skewed type; the volume is also a celebration of the natural world. Halley's Comet tears through the sky--""a cosmic snowball made of dusty ice and gas. Once or twice a century I pass the Earth and Sun""--trailing mists of typeface. A giraffe's ""brown and yellow patchwork quilts, turns tail and hobbles away on wooden stilts"" has word-legs that hang like pendulums. One poem explodes like a shower of fireworks, reads left, then right; another captures the haiku evanescence of a butterfly: ""The butterfly is the fantasy fulfiller of every caterpillar."" There is mirror writing, a winter's-night letter storm, and a salute to synchronized swimming. There is a delight in language that is economical: ""An oyster boy, an oyster girl, an oyster dad, a mother-of-pearl."" Desimini's mixed-media images contain a measure of sophisticated giddiness to give the poems an added fillip.