The poems in Carol Hobbs' debut collection, New-found-land, detail a life by centering on precisely described moments that turn toward mystery. They unfold slowly like flowers drawing us into their centers. What seems simple is not: "A child wants to believe what she's told/not what she glimpses in the two-step swing of days," the poet writes. Rooted in place, these poems move from precise description: "Sweet myrrh/and spruce needles tangled like worms/in the knot of sweaters..." to the enigma of those glimpes.