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Each intricate poem in The Sweating Sickness turns its faceted surface to reflect memories cut so finely each has sharpened edges. The remarkable interlocking villanelle suites and meditations on mythology and Anne Boleyn turn and churn in an acrobatic and exquisite display. And in the hazy rotation of the earth from one season to the next we observe the ache of Lehmann’s autumnal poems as we’re confronted by urgent specters who refuse to be ignored. We witness a world attempting to move on while also seeing ourselves refuse to look away. These are breathtaking poems.