One broad shaft laid across the frame — the distance to an oriented axis through a tight core and a wide spill, with the far end giving out — and the hand turns the axis.

A lighthouse turning inside sea fog — the blades die out where the banks are thick because the light is dimmed by what it crossed, not by how far it came, and a hand held up casts a real shadow that widens and fades as it falls away.

The colour of a temperature: hot metal lights one channel at a time, red then green then blue, and the whole sequence from deep cherry through orange to white falls out of the order they switch on in.

A dark body in front of a light, and only the part of the limb facing the source burns.

Leaf shadow where the coarse canopy casts the softest edge and the small gaps project discs of the sun; the hand moves through it like a breeze.

Shafts through a slatted window, made visible by dust smeared along the light rather than speckled across it.

Two masses of light leaning against each other, brightest where they still disagree and black where neither reaches.

A body ringed by its own corona, spikes crawling around the edge where the field is tightest.