Judge Fleda Brown’s comments: “This poem lives up to its fierce title. It moves flawlessly into the craving, the mad passion that ‘gorges itself, / and then slips to some cave apart / to gnaw the bones of memory.’ I am in the presence here of pure energy, no blunder of language in the way between us. I love ‘rain beating / like the frantic hands of a jealous wife,’ which may inform the poem, leaves us to guess that it does. Then the last stanza, which pulls us out of the immediate, tells us this passion is long past, but not at all, really. It’s after the speaker ‘like a pack of hounds.’ What apt metaphors!”