“Angela Ball is a poet wise enough to describe love as ‘a double appetite for seeing.’ Her poems are suffused by a wary disappointment in romantic excitement, but with the piqued attention that accompanies desire she makes the world, so far as this can be done, the object of her desire.” ―Williams Matthews
I did not like this as well as The Museum of the Revolution; it doesn't feel like as cohesive a collection of poems to me.
That being said, there are a couple of poems that are deeply, deeply beautiful. My favorite is "A Language" which reads in part:
I know a time when a bridge fell, heavy with traffic in a winter dusk--a fracture and the two sides sheared away. Each person on the bank with the secret thought--"I was right not to believe in it." So in the middle of the night I rest my hand on your hip to have it apprehend a quiet form, a body, whole.