"If you see me dancing a two-step/ I'm sending a starless code/ we're escaping everywhere," declares Daye (River Hymns), deftly capturing the desire for freedom, as embodied by freedom of movement, that pervades this bright new collection. A poem dedicated to Black Chicago poets observes, "The south truly doesn't want us to go"; constant airport security hassles suggest "to know you can die anywhere/ doesn't feel like flying anywhere." Indeed, flight and particularly bird imagery surfaces throughout, yet there's also a sense of rootedness, of deep community, particularly of Daye's North Carolina community: "My mother will leave me her mother's deep-black/ cast-iron skillet someday." Tying these two themes together, roads symbolize both place and means of departure--"I've lived/ on roads that dragged through America"--and Daye expands his world and ours by taking us on his family's road trips (with homey snapshots). VERDICT Told in limpid language that gets its poetic heft from observation rather than fancy footwork ("if they are not careful their hands/ will stay in the shape of that work"); a fine addition to most collections.