The poems in Still Possible pay homage to the invisible passage of time – the deep, private current that wends through our lives as a steadfast companion, sculpting our interior worlds as inexorably and exquisitely as its visible manifestations. Whyte turns his eye, and his pen, to the possibilities and harvests this shaping reveals: the shyness and vulnerability of love, the illusion of imperfection, and the new invitations that beckon along the way. The poems reflect an abiding faith in time’s wisdom: a journey turned away from in youth waits patiently for later maturity; an early experience ripens in secret to reveal, decades later, a full understanding. Under Whyte’s poet-philosopher gaze, a rain-soaked day in an Irish farmhouse becomes a meditation on the essence of a truly good day: a settled contentment, alert and open to whatever may call. Plus, sheep, Seamus Heaney and a dog. Powerful language rests on a foundation of what isn’t said, a silence underpinning the eloquence of articulation. In this way, Still Possible hovers above the numinous and the unknowable – what we pray for, what we pass on, what mystery awaits and, in the end, what it might mean to be happy.