You walked in wearing sandals Inside where you freed your hair and unravelled my pride you asked ‘Can you see the gates of Damascus the...

At a diner near Nye, where no one has heard of cancer, and everyone sleeps drinking Templeton Rye, you are sitting across from me. Your...

They mourn you in Damascus, as you speak to me over the phone. You move beneath the wind, and your words now glow with the colours of...

from seven northern lochs this water has been fetched it arrives in a summer cloud you pour it over my skin the temperature isn’t gentle...

With a latte in my hand and my feet resting on Phoenician sand I contemplate how I, the unworthy Lazarus, how I will explain to you that...

I would be breathing if the windows were open, and I would hear you if the noise could seep in. But in this space, I know there are only...

You woke me up. You said you were invited to a voodoo dance, where you would be fed temaki and served saki in seaweed cones. You woke me...

You were prepared — You had practised the moves, rehearsed the scene. First, you would offer to hang her coat. Then, invoke a resemblance...

The genes — the pull of my grandfather’s train, the Missouri tracks and the dress she wore, his first love, as she lay barefoot on the...