“they tried to rip out my pages / but they could not take my fire / and I would not let them win”. Georgie Henley’s Amphibian, the last pamphlet in fourteen poems’ 2022 series, is easily one of the best, brimming with these bold and bodily poems that straddle shorelines, all living up to their collective title. There are traces of many types of poetry, such as the confessional (“I’m filled with things I’m afraid of / blood / love / ambition”; “I am seventeen / and still confuse admiration and love and lust / in a fruit salad where everything tastes like yellow juice”) and the narrative — for instance, the short series of ‘CIRCE’ poems, particularly the third and final part, ‘thief-lover’, which ends “and some epic poet will call him a hero / for leaving”. Henley is also keenly aware of herself and her craft: “I am doing my best with words / and their limits”. There are several standout poems, including ‘Sim Theory’, ‘Love Poem’, ‘The Sculptor’, ‘PARIS IS BURNING’, ‘Surveillance’, and brilliant ‘Blush’, which was first published in one of fourteen poems’ previous publications; in the notes I make when I read, most of these poems just have a lot of exclamation marks next to them in place of anything coherent, I just felt so struck all the time. Henley’s radical vulnerability makes her particularly readable and relatable: “pray the next person who touches me / will leave it undisturbed / slender talisman / against the fraudulent dawn”; “I’m bored of carrying around my dreams / the morning after, like a glow-in-the-dark dog collar. / I’m bored of being a sullen itching warning.” And, finally, her imagery: “Be assured: they only know a moon of you.”