When I read Graham Foust, I’m put in mind of both Wallace Stevens and Johnny Cash. (Foust, who was born in Tennessee, entitled one poem “Nuances of a Theme by Stevens; Or, Why I Love Country Music.”) Like Stevens, Foust writes intricate poems that explore a world from which meaning has departed; the poet seeks to restore it, however tentatively, through the powers of artifice. The challenge, as with Stevens, is to call up “afternoons / that in their moments had meaning” without suffering “a relapse into god-talk.” But Foust is at his best describing the moments he’s just…