In Jorie Graham’s hands, form is a kind of method acting, an inspiriting habitation. Breath, more than ever, is momentum in her new book, To 2040. As always in Graham’s oeuvre, the lyric explodes experience, stretches time—seems to—expanding the line’s possibilities, whether in short or long lines. To 2040 can seem both an address, an intimate but public apostrophe to a year that’s not so far away, and the title can also suggest a movement toward that year, a movement that might be fatal. The future the book is gesturing toward is the almost near future, and the poems point at a moment in the timeline of our global climate catastrophe that will be in many of our lifetimes. Apocalyptic possibilities of the near future, but in the poems, she’s also written brilliant strange renderings of VR, drones, the pinging world of phones and endless information—our very present strangeness. Meanwhile, as ever, the self who speaks and acts is slightly fugitive in Graham’s lines. The self moves in this book from splintery quatrains intermixed with one-line stanzas to a freer—but never entirely free—verse that bristles from the right-hand margin.