In Jennifer K. Dick’s first book, Fluorescence, very real places—Paris, Massachusetts, Colorado, Iowa, Morocco—mix into the imagined, into Breughelian villages where there’s “a persimmon in the corner knitting.” These places are inhabited by varied but always very real bodies, stretching outward from their own edges and encountering, or engendering, a certain luminescence in the process. What happens when we exceed ourselves? When fragments of dream are lifted to the surface and through to something beyond? Clues, keys, indications—all that once seemed certain slips off into code. These poems use language to crack it.