I feel utterly unqualified to review a book of poems. I read them too fast, I rarely stop and savour them. I mean to, but then I speed up, and catch myself, and have to go back. It's not that I don't like poetry - I do. It's just that I'm not good at reading it.
But I enjoyed this, although I didn't love it. There are a couple of poems that will stick with me for a while. Maybe that's all you can ask.
It was particularly poignant reading the collection, because I'd previously (years ago) read the poet's memoir of the time he spent taking care of his lover, while his lover died of AIDS. This collection was published two years after that memoir, and the same images haunt the pages.
What would I have made of the collection without that context? I'm not sure.