i am very precious

I see all the black marks on the page, the lines
hallucinations falling off the edge of the world – my tongue
we haven’t talked about desperation,

From ‘Salt’

He cleared snow from the path and laid down salt.
He was conscious of oxygen, then: the word, also the way
his breath came back at him as mist


Lying on the bed with my mother,
Wearing my father’s Alpaca overcoat.
Here, Upstairs, where the air is old

Investigation of Past Shoes

The forever shoe, which points homewards, belongs to my mother. When our house was being built, she stepped onto the driveway while the tarmac was still wet


There is an ash tree behind this house. You
can see it from our bedroom window.
If you stare at it for long enough, you’ll see

Bridled Vows

I will be faithful to you, I do vow,
but not until the seas have all run dry
et cetera.

Altar Call

The first time the man left her he walked down the aisle,
his face blank with hopelessness or with hope.


It took two looks to see him,
head whipped and jaw loosed, silent

Slowed-Down Blackbird

Three people in the snow
getting rid of themselves
breath by breath

Dispute Over a Mass Grave

The one you have finished examining
is my son. That is the milky coloured Kurdish
suit his father tailored for him

Listening for Lost People

Still looking for lost people – look unrelentingly.
‘They died’ is not an utterance in the syntax of life