Works

Twelve ways of looking. Begin where you like — the order is only a suggestion.

A lone standing stone in fog on open moorland, the heath dissolving to pale silver around it.

Lost in the Fog

Wait with me
Paths diverging on the heath, the ground opening away into mist.

Mysteries of the Heath

I take the measure of the city, and turn away.
Four cormorants on a derelict wooden mooring cluster in flat, fog-bound water; river and horizon dissolved to silver, the birds and their reflection the only dark.

And when I crumble who will remember

The encounter seemed as opaque as the weather.

The Old Coach Road

An old way through, half-swallowed by the verge.

The State of the Union

A nation caught mid-sentence.

A long London Underground platform, a few passengers strung out along the wait.

Our Brief Hour

Held still, and moving the whole time.

Casket Factory Tour

Where the boxes are made; a tour nobody asks for twice.

Bone Collector

An inventory of what is left.

Shaped by Snow

Bright, plain, almost cheerful — and stranger for it, held here in the dark.

The Dead Travel Fast

Borrowed from Bürger by way of Stoker — the journey that won't stop.

— the works remain —