"There is no container more fitting to the conveyance of the nuanced sorrow of the permanent displacement from home, a word 'ensnared with thorns,' than the sonnet, certainly as it is practiced by Oliver de la Paz, in metrical couplets, with shimmering music, 'the syllables of story, // saying then, then, then,' and a splendorous catalog of details, acutely remembered, and gilded into metaphor. ...The tenderness in these poems comes through in their 'gradations of memory where one // belonged,' and in their penetrating artfulness, itself a kind of love." -Diane Seuss, author of frank: sonnets
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