Tempo Caches of rubble are the obstacles so slowly, geologically formed, I took them as landmarks, orienting myself in accord.But they shift under my feet at a tempo I fail to notice. In The Lost Grip, poems are stepping stones mapping trauma to recovery, disarming convictions shaped by cultural sins of omission. At times with a painter's eye or a dancer's movement, Eva Zimet forms connection and reconnection. The Lost Grip offers respite and nurtures light on the way to healing.