Four in Hand

Mountain (High Ground Coward) delivers a work of raptured lust in this skillful consideration of romantic vulnerability: “This is no return ticket between us...// Walk the highest hill until you see that/ what you buried can’t be driven out of me.” As a member of the LGBTQ community, that vulnerability includes the realities of discrimination (“there is no making public/ how we push and pull in dark corners./ The beehive whispers when it sees our/ hands touch)” as well as potential violence (“Redblooded and blueblood and violet./ Pulse and pierced dance floor hearts.”). In a poem allotting one word per line, Mountain evokes the seismic plummet of climate stability and the weight of individual responsibility: “ruin/ mounting/ with/ each/ storm/ if/ this/ must/ be/ elegy/ it/ has/ been/ earned.” She seamlessly weaves narratives through the work’s four heroic crowns of sonnets, which are full of lush language, understated quips, and sonically stirring phrases. “This book is a monument to touch,/ even with its hands in its pockets,” she promises. And, indeed, these sprawling, inviting pages deliver by revealing Mountain’s intimate and dynamic voice. (Apr.)