I'm haunted by old texts and contacts in the phone book, and by her name that looks the same as mine.

Death, I imagine, could be so.

I refuse that old cliché - I am whole by me.

My future scatters across the carpet to dig into someone's heel

…Shall we launch an unholy war on language, you and I? - about miscommunicating abstractly with your ex

Poem from a hospice

I slipped in the salt water and hit my head on the Stockholm shore line - a poem for my travelling boyfriend

How did we do it? - about those first few days after loss and all those years after.

Grief becomes you, my darling

I laughed at the look on your face and I stood my ground like a nomad

You’re sitting there in shoes and crowns and jewellery from another dream entirely --- Poetry from a café in Rome

It's always sudden