135 x 190mm, 56 pages, black risograph printing with four colour risograph cover, saddle stitched, 2022

In the night, there is a garden.
It is night, which overfloweth.
Strange vines begin girdling the old lamp posts and the wrought iron fences, intertwining with ivy, with passion flower, and the nodding hellebore. This irenic incandescence overcomes the cinerescent, and the wee small hours become you in the hypnagogic glow of the only childhood left to you. Dreams of That which is still possible…
there you stand, so much smaller now, beneath the Cherry Nightshade……..

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