“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.”
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.