The Moons of Jupiter

Outside, our breath rises, light’s focused through clear lenses, the magic of thick, polished glass, of mirrors. Tonight I see the moons of Jupiter: four tiny crescents lit by the sun in line, in orbit, the planet like a star.

War…

following the events of this summer …the few words I have to offer… War (7th July 2005) Today suddenly we have a taste of it, are caught by the fear, inflamed with fury at the killing. Real, instantly gathers new meaning. Guns

Winnie Deacon

drove ambulances during the first world war, her story, smudged in newsprint, suspended between the arms of commuters, red poppies. She found men over twice her age crying, shell-shocked, gassed. She gathered whole, dead and dismembered bodies into communal graves,

Riverhill June 2015

Riverhill (I) There is no river at Riverhill, the name comes from Saxon: ‘rither’. Riverhill (II) Listen to jackdaws chip at the edge of the breeze staccato laughter. Riverhill (III) I am no gardener and yet I love a garden