The poems in Jon Davis’ s latest collection,  Fearless Now & Nameless, direct his keen eye toward the ironies on which this life so often depends— the failures of language, the violence of nature, the indifference of death. “ Is that what spirit is?” the poet wonders, considering the nature of birds, the thrasher, the finch “ humping in the eaves. Gathering straw and string. / Laying the griefstuck delicate eggs.” As we read, we find our own eyes grow sharper, better able to take it all in.