It is refreshing to read poetry that doesn't have to bullshit about what it is. Hilbert can write a sonnet that sounds so natural - and so casually American - that heard aloud, one might not even recognize it for what it is. Or rather, one would recognize it for exactly what it is: great poetry.

Saturday, napping at noon, I’m shocked / When the refinery’s test warning blows, / Correct to the second—an empty alarm, / Fossil hum of Cold War, its bombs undropped, / Frightened ash of another time.