These poems are a celebration of, and maybe a map to, the Imagination. The Imagination is their locale. And the speaker of each poem is like Sinbad, facing new and more fabulous wonders as each poem unfolds. Never have you traveled gladly to as many exotic places in a single poem. But mostly, these poems are an absolute delight. With a mysterious Eastern European quickness, an ancient Chinese detached observation, and a little bit of Joe Ceravolo, each of them creates a world unto itself. I happily stepped lightly from one to the next.

Broaddus's poetry has the structure of light. History and the individual's place are both both wavy and particulate. The way this poet encapsulates history actually casts it all around like suspended confetti that the speaker and reader move through. Absolutely electric.