With its thirty interconnected poems, this book is a relatively brief work in contrast to the monumental two hundred pages of her first poetry book Este suelo secreto (1995). But here her poems feel less restrained than before, like she's allowing herself more room after her two previous, more tightly controlled poetry books.

Whereas in Este suelo secreto Parra employed a sort of second person experimental sonnet form, which she would adhere to closely for a number of pages then rupture at the next turn with a two line poem or one that explodes in fragments across the page, and whereas in Antigüedad del frío (2000) she worked with lines that were longer, almost prose-like, written now in first person and more connected by meaning and by proximity, in Aún no we feel at once closer to her than before, owing to her consistent use of a first person narrative voice full of questions and longing, even as her experimentation with visual space – by scattering words and pieces of lines across the page, by using clipped, quick stanzas – opens up distance between Parra and the reader and gives us another world, a new dimension, of readings. Approaching this new dimension, we may find ourselves asking: How should we read these poems on the page, in what order or direction, and what are these blank spaces, what is missing on the page, what of ourselves do we need to add?