Grain, John Glenday's first volume since 1995, has 43 short poems. This is recognisably the poet of Undark, but happier, more open, more playful. (It took an embarrassing three readings before I got the joke in the litany of saints, St Orage.)
His tone is quietly intimate, often directed to a `you' and ending with a declaration. Here Glenday responds in Silence the Colour of Snow to the accusation of never talking:
...Hush now, not another word.
Look! High over the frozen roofs,
my answer hangs and falls, that six-fingered star.
There are meditations on love and on death - as in the inversions of Etching of a Line of Trees - and there's religious conviction alongside a love of this world. Sometimes you need Wikipedia but Glenday often writes with shocking simplicity. A volume of poetry to fall in love with.