The failings of the body can be a form of company a trapped nerve ringing in the night like music. Kate Camp’s poetry has been described by readers as fearless, affable and ‘containing a surprising radicalism and power’. In her new collection, she is ever alert to the stories unfolding all around us and inside our own bodies. As she is striding away from hope, she is also holding on tightly to the promise of morning. The poems move between distant planets and Chappies Dairy, between Mont-Saint-Michel and the lighthouse in Island Bay, with every moment, every feeling, every conviction on the edge of becoming another. Like the plumber who can hear water running deep underground, Makeshift Seasons is a book of extraordinarily sharp sensing and knowing.