We Go Wandering at Night and Are Consumed by Fire

Night’s mushroom scent: / old music, old lures, / labyrinths of the miniature.

This is a tale of moths and mirrors, glim and dim, told in the smoky, sensuous lines of Rowyda Amin, a writer who specialises in controlled fantasies (Alan Brownjohn, Poetry Review), and the delicate, luxuriant illustrations of Heather McArthur. We Go Wandering … ripples and shifts, sometimes sharply, sometimes imperceptibly, trailing many shadows as it leads you by the nose through a conjured world - a city of crossroads where the borders between things melt away.