This is a collection that I knew ahead of time I was going to LOVE and LOVE it I did. The visceralness of the heartbreak and the rage and the possibility and the worship. The openness of it all laid out in front of you, whether it hurts to look at or crinkles your eyes with recognition, with hope. I wrote down a number of poems as favorites, but how better to close than with the line that close the collection:

who says the grace of a black man in motion is not perfect
as a tusk in the sun or a single leaf taking its sweet time to the ground?

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