In Andrew E. Colarusso's Hívado, we catch vivid glimpses of a life spent between Puerto Rico and New York: a moment undressing beside a tarn in the rural barrio of Limaní, the loneliness of buses and taxis, dead bees in the corner of an apartment in Brooklyn. Through the lattice of consciousness, cuartos of text become frames of memory, saturated with sense impressions and tender feeling, resulting in a poetry of the first intensity.