Elle Heedles's debut poetry collection, Rain Noise, shows there is no world apart from the way we feel about it—there is only the feeling world in which hope and rain both dribble through gravity as equals, and apricots and forgiveness are equally juicy. Heedles’s poems are tuned to the strange, soundless music of everything, to the way things harmonize and ache, both sonic and supersonic, beyond us and within us. Here, the wind is in consort with one’s pockets, which are in consort with the moon. The poems land with a kind of gentle, cooling tenderness, and bribe us to be bigger by showing us that we are made mostly of our conditions, the way rain is mainly wet noise.

Elle Heedles's debut poetry collection, Rain Noise, shows there is no world apart from the way we feel about it—there is only the feeling world in which hope and rain both dribble through gravity as equals, and apricots and forgiveness are equally juicy. Heedles’s poems are tuned to the strange, soundless music of everything, to the way things harmonize and ache, both sonic and supersonic, beyond us and within us. Here, the wind is in consort with one’s pockets, which are in consort with the moon. The poems land with a kind of gentle, cooling tenderness, and bribe us to be bigger by showing us that we are made mostly of our conditions, the way rain is mainly wet noise.