e mail



The brighter the sun -
the paler the light.
The brighter it gets, the paler, the whiter things become,
Until the light is so fierce that even the shadows
are a clear impenetrable white...

Where I no longer see the gold of his hair,
Because it drains into his purple fingertips,
Which bleed into the deep brown beneath his fingernails,
Which run into the colour of the jacket I gave him -
And which he stole from me -
Which leaks into the yellow stripe of tar on his tongue,
Which - with the wet red of his lips - Dissolves into that clear impenetrable white.

You can see things in this light,
but not their colours.
I can see him in this light,
but I have to shade my eyes.