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      Mausoleum A house is a machine for living in.- Le Corbusier I have never climbed a tree, never broken a bone and will never walk on water. I open my little window and worry about possibilities: imprudent intruders of bird or cat, the wind, the...

      The House Keeps Score The house keeps score in places no one checks any longer. A hairline crack behind the fridge. The soft dip in the hallway floor where grief learned how to pace. We didn’t mark the days after you left. We measured time by...

      Windless Day Night’s white noise is over. Day arises to stillness. Light crouches behind windows, presses through chinks. Dawn’s chorus conceals a speck of silence that casts a shadow stretching vast across the floor. Double-checking in the cereal...

      Flock In the charity shop I try on a coat flocked with fake shearling, shaved-soft almost: fibres fired onto plastic to fool the wrist. At home I snap it. A dust of fur lifts, hangs, then drifts onto the draining board, the bulb, the bruised...

      Letter to L You’re a character, a Roman numeral, an internet meme. Descendant from a peasant’s crook or cattle prod, you’re the twelfth letter of the alphabet, but missing from a baker’s dozen. You’re in every email I ever wrote, appearing in...

      Comfort Queens "As usual, we are joined today by about nine or ten gay men who follow me, and a legion of young queer women with anxiety who find me comforting." Trixie Mattel, via a Livestream Being quiet and easily tired by being alive among...

      A Prayer for Rima With echoes of the Arabic lullaby ‘yalla tnam’ Maybe after your bath— you will sit for a moment, the towel will hold you close like a quiet prayer— يا رب، نامت الطفلة، يا رب خلّيها تنام Ya Rab, the child sleeps, oh Lord, help her...

TThe mirror in your apartment where I saw you praying through the angle of the door Now hangs only in my mind             I breathe on its glass wipe away fly specks Tsyotsya but there is only the empty kitchen          in the tower block in Volodymyr The rhomboids of...

      Wight Sirens Sing silver times, shimmering columns of light on the wine-dark, temple to moon-eyed Hecate, the insatiable. Sing treachery, dizzy with stars, sudden squalls, sting of our stink, pianissimo of sighing, undying, true-to-only-you-oo...

      Seven Sisters Road We rolled out on Seven Sisters Road, two crates of Tyskie empty in my stairwell. We were talking from the chest, walking backwards crackling air above our heads like streetlights beatboxing, spitting Maccies adverts at us sounds...

      Blood and Ash But look here, I turned my head and discovered the Denver Museum waiting, a ghost that stood out in my sight, telling me that their land was spring— grass above flowers. Today, they lay in an Indian exhibition, silent； Their faces...

      Finely balanced He’s a house of cards, a delicately balanced pyramid held together by hearing aids and dusty bifocals and wobbling dentures and ageing pacemaker and shirt with three buttons missing in action and tea-stained cardigan with more...

      Unexploded Bombs You became obsessed with nucleated red blood cells when you peeked through an aperture window at your liquid, viscous nature. You became obsessed with maps after an unexploded bomb exposed a Second World War timeline fault...