“In his brilliant ramages Thor Bacon lets himself get swept down the river of sound, vowels and consonants swirling, harmonizing, and spilling over from one line to the next. This leads to surprising marriages—since when did love letters between the Pope and Anna-Theresa remind you of a rhinestone piercing a woman’s nose?—but underneath these wild currents we sense a solid bedrock. Here is a keen attentiveness to the natural world—the sea-foam inside the sage, the scent of dates inside a woman’s bra. It is a gift to linger inside these poems.”