‘Apostrophe’, the title poem (here missing or inexistent) becomes by its literal absence the sign of the invisible dimension Elizabeth Robinson conjures in the meticulously wrought poetry that follows. Grace is invoked (by way of an epigraph from Susannah Lessard) as a kind of muse. One senses a radical passivity, a silence unnamed, an absolute opening to the unexpected which grace informs in this work. The reader must approach in this same spirit, for one stands in the place of an (absent) other.
—Beverly Dahlen

Somewhere along in this manuscript, a series of elegies for a lost friendship, I suddenly felt the miracle: I will not quote the lines, for the lines will be different for each reader: the miracle that within this poetry I am changed. It is not that I come to understand it, so much, as that this poetry understands me; I am seen. This is how radiance breaks into the world. 
—Jean Valentine