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Richard Skelton began this book-length poem many years ago with the intention of exploring the history of Britain’s landscape, only for the text to transform into a kind of literary seance, involving both human and other-than-human voices. Its transforming power lies in the accumulative magic of the word as ritual. Skelton’s is a mesmeric lyric, probing the edges of consciousness towards a place where ‘there are always presences / always inherences / things beyond sight.’