In Lighthouses, Allison casts a light over the world, catching as she does, a man grafting in his shed; the new moon's pull on a love affair; Emily Wilding Davison hiding on Census Night; a mother as a listening telescope and Amy Hopkins falling for a comet. Virginia Woolf dips in and out, with her charcoal stare, her diaries and essays. And there are quiet poems too: sat at bedsides when ghosts and love, like the keeper's light, are never far away.
