ALL HALLOWS All Hallows light, brittle between highest, south clouds, feels essence most when shell becomes fractured: an essence which seems sucked in, seems blown out – beyond any orbit. Indoors – eyes clasp the clover-pink vaporiser; in the shade, heart-shaped holes in its sides provide lights for giants – patterns for the plain wall: behind the scalloped circle of the main window, candleflame constantly wavers … Copyright © JENNY JOHNSON