When much new poetry looks no further than the poet’s navel, this kind of imaginative leap is a tonic. It’s familiarly eerie ground for Davies, a Cardiff University don whose previous collections gave voice to Judas and witchfinders. The plot (if that’s not too strong a word for this captivating bundle of spectral vignettes and wry half-anecdotes) unfolds through short lyrics. Its pleasures are quiet ones... I liked it very much.