The twelfth day of sweetness saw us weeping over a canal of melting permafrost.

Among the dazzling damselflies we ourselves became nymphs – floating on poppy petals, turning over stones and tossing everything we find beneath them to our friends.

Oh our beautiful, careless friends…

Friends, this is another startling year for poetry.

In these pages you’ll find work from bon vivants and homebodies – words that dance and ache and strut and get their guts out