I live on the LA river. It's where I walk the dog. You may know it from film—Gattaca, Chinatown, the chase scenes in Grease and Terminator 2. The list goes on. It's not really a river, not in the way we think of one, but for most of its twenty-seven miles, it's just a huge cement wash. The portion I live on is earthen however. Below the 5 freeway, mallard and heron preen themselves, catfish pop crayfish from under rock, and brown and black bullhead run. I mention it because it seems a fitting introduction to this week's selection from Dan Rosenberg. The work here is baroque, almost otherworldly, creating a place unto itself. Once we allow ourselves into the meditation Rosenberg's language creates—if we let his wild retake us—he brings us startlingly back to confront the present, the contemporary, the now. It is the river, it is the city.