Thérèse Corfiatis seeks out beauty and spirit in simple things: the curl of a wave, the flight of cockatoos ‘yellow-flecked tails flashing / like airborne sunflowers’ (‘Black Cockatoos’). She searches for ancestral homeland and belonging – ‘my dispossession torn away / a birthing wound healed up’ (‘The Bridge at Csíkrákos’) – and presents them to the reader with wonder, honesty and freshness.