The brings you to the ponds, where the people are lying under the water,” begins one typically eerie prose poem in Helen Tookey’s second collection. She sees “women, children, men, lying in the green water and gazing unblinkingly up at you”. Reading this book can feel like sliding into that sunken world. Strange things float beneath its beautiful surfaces. Tookey, 50, came to publishing late. She gives the impression of having gathered a lifetime of things to say, and a lifetime’s worth of ways to not say them.