\u003cdiv\u003eLike the promise of its title, \u003cI\u003eAll This Could Be Yours\u003c/I\u003e is full of elusive gifts. Joshua Trotter's debut collection is a metaphysical hall of windows that seem to be mirrors and mirrors presenting themselves as windows. Trotter's poems\u0026#151;which could be the bastard love-children of Stevens and Frost\u0026#151;refract, reflect and deflect with canny puns and rhymes, the rigour of their forms belying the rogue trickster twists of cockeyed logic they take and the po-faced near-sense in which they speak. Don't be fooled into thinking these poems glib: Trotter is often most serious precisely at his most blithe; his poems are always thought-full. Full of \u0026#147;intemperate winds / blown thinking from the ledge, through the gap // between the frame and what it haunts for us,\u0026#8221; they resist the intelligence, almost successfully, as Stevens said a poem should.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c/div\u003e
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