"In June It Would Be Bright Right Now"

“Writers are liars” – Erasmus Fry, in conversation, 6 May 1986.

I would suffer the lacerations of these sunsets, Endure the magma pupil’s ethereal torch, Corrosion of the whirlwind sea-wind’s lash; The well-wrought fences’ tangled knot of roots Ripped from the jealous, grasping soil To leave me suture-less and split For this view – this hand – this kiss: For an ounce of pain as beautiful as this.

But enough of that.

It’s dark. You’re asleep. The air is warm with whispers, The night is sweet, And here I lie: Unable to find a single honest word.

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