Julie Esther Fisher echoes no one; her lines startle and boundaries may only reveal themselves when dissolving. Within a single poem one can move from praise for tree, love, or creature, then swerve within a shadowy surrealism to the un-secreting of trauma: “Is there a chance that an eyelash is still someone?” A discreet post-mortem. There is a cast of elegant iridescence over these poems so that innocence ruptured, any breath of menace or what may pick away at the seams of shame, lift toward the reader with an imperative of hard-earned defiance! And yet the poems of On the Lip of Night have a tensile beauty which draws you in, for there is also affection and praise, humor, wit and the intent surprises of poetry itself!