Paula Cisewski guides us through a landscape that resonates with the fugitive and far-gone, the ghosts of what Whitman calls our go-befores. A brother vanishes, and gives rise to a second city of the mind, in which the dead and the missing remain citizens, in which Keats’s negative capability is the sheriff in town. Cisewski constructs a swaggering, tender, Carneyesque Fargo of the mind ( Do we love Heaven more than God? ), a place that relentlessly arrests and releases our loved ones. This is a book of poems that fares forever forward, quixotic, in the fullest sense of the word: picaresque, curious, errant, and hilarious. In a midwestern odyssey at once metaphysical and emphatically real, Cisewski confronts (as Nancy Cunard once wrote) every windmill in a landscape of windmills.