Justin Lowe’s San Luis is a collection of veils, partly lifted or shifting in the breeze, providing glimpses of things perhaps not fully apprehended, of questions not answered. In poems that are wistful, nostalgic, remembrances, heartaches, Lowe probes a lifetime of the uncertainties of ‘this crooked little boy / with his warped view of time, / of belonging, /that never got truly mended.’ David Ades
