Where the light pulls back, Elizabeth Robinson’s glyphic text is vividly relieved. The sudden pronoun, verbal ersatz, opposing juxtapositions describe her oddly ambiguous clarity. Rock filters, water conveys, advancing light obscures. In these deft, subtle poems meaningful associations arrange themselves. Like “bones in a sand diff,” like “that bed whose middle is lowered by the body,” Robinson’s impressions last.
—C.D. Wright