<p>In <em>Leaves Surface Like Skin</em>, Michelle Menting articulates gorgeous, strange visions of nature inflected by human interference. A forest is interrupted by a graveyard of Bob&rsquo;s Big Boy statuettes; ruling cockroaches populate a nuclear fall-out film; lichen becomes litter; a horse and farrier practice their choreography, as he &ldquo;let[s] her lean on him, her hips cocked, almost delicate.&rdquo; These poems teem with litany, landscape, literal and figurative image; an awareness of mortality hovers, not so much afterlife as underlife. Menting has a gift for moody and luminous phrasing: &ldquo;For some, the world is wood tick wicked.&rdquo; There&rsquo;s magic to a collection that does such heavy lifting with a light touch.</p><p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&mdash;Sandra Beasley</p>