It’s like this: You go numb into your silent lunch hours Into the chill doom of daylight Are swept streetless down to city libraries Walk out with China Mieville novels And Duke Ellington and urban fairytales Trying to warm your hands and heart By the heat...

I half-expect Gitane-smoking men To flow through the door, Exclaiming: "the world is here And demands exultation! O celebrate, you daughters of justice! O weep, you children of suspicion! The ivy has freed the streetlamps. Statues guard ancient typewriters: Rejoice in...

for my grandfather, Sydney Levine, on the night of his death In the end, his bird-like hands Clutched to his chest, skin like vellum. It is on that parchment we write our stories, On this man we weave our tales. He is our silent audience, breath shallow, As we scrawl...

Now I know how 100,000 bodies look Buried in soft ground; or at least I know their shape, How much land they fill. I know that grass Grows greener with humans as fertiliser. I am haunted by the curve of souls, the twist of necks as children land on hundreds of other...

Coming back I wonder where Home is. I have official stamps From thieves to say Enter, Stay. I want to ask Aunty Sue, how do I Apply for a passport, from you? We came from China, from Russia, Ukraine, Poland, Germany, Czech; from Vietnam, Kosovo, South Sudan,...