Afterthought She knits something pink with curved needles, pauses only to check and recheck the lines of code that define the pattern she nibbles with her fingers. She casts off the raised levels of FHA, her daughter’s ovulation, the tantalising...

      From the Blue Life won’t be contained by how far the horizon, we don’t compose the song of each other but revel in the days of making. Love carries the seeds of its own tragedy and you can’t come through it unscathed, but endure the days of...

      Afoot Only, when your face slams into solid glass, somewhere outside Dorking – a squared-off edge unmentioned in map or guide – do you realise what’s going on, presence noted by a watchful deer, wary at the edge of woods, the skulk of abandoned...

      Valentine’s Day, 2016 The red-eye was delayed three times.  On the third I told them my father had died and I had to get home. I was given yesterday’s paper. My mobile rang: a woman wanted to change her contract. I told her my father had died. She...

      Driven I named him Driven after what he had done. Thinking of all the places we would go together under the canopies of the trees, the watery suns the skin of his knuckles popped out against the steering wheel one hand at two o’clock, the other...

      In the Garden Club Hut with Dad Underarmed up onto the bench beside you pondering your bad back, too much flesh above my knees I absorb the morning like a dry seed. You chat, easy with customers most already friends hand them smiles in paper bags...

      Footnotes to a river Pine trees are confirmation that darkness clings erratically. The river-gums, on the other hand, are pale as thighs. A streambed knuckled with pebbles. In conversation with the river, you will not match its fluency. Bellbird,...

      мы сделаны из кусочков тишины вместе взятых. гроб из плоти - это тело оно содержит нас от рождения до смерти но в небе только одно облако осталось висеть на углу наклонного здания и кто в любой момент мог упасть     we are made of pieces...