Reviewed by Basia Wilson In crafting a poem, any good poet knows to consider the myriad ways a reader may approach their work. Take,
I would love to pull a hat off my head and use my dirty forearm to wipe away a hard shine. To sit with
Rain falls before the earth is formed here then everywhere the frogs cry, and the swamp swims closer through the reeds, water, and mud.
You go hear the trad, concertina’s breathy tune, a fiddle’s weeping, tin whistle like a fog-shrouded dream, pint of the Black to set your