In Immensity Beth Paulson constructs a sonorous, sensuous, and serious verse that won't let you go. Metaphor? Music? Imagination? Craft? Narrative? Lyric? That's all here, and danger, too. "Two slim lanes and no guardrail, only/road to take me south from the Colorado/mountain town I call home," Immensity opens. "Here on Earth soft soughs of spring winds/ round corners of cottonwood trees/ trucks moan and thrum on the highway/ the river murmurs from across the road./ I can still hear her say my name," it ends. Immensity is a book neither to be missed nor forgotten.
Andrew McFadyen-Ketchum,
author of Ghost Gear