Sunset Reports (for Juliana Capes)


Rays still emanate up

As the sheet of sky spins slowly to the left

Spinning out from the light

A man came down from the mountain and looked into the light and said

‘I cannot see anything else by it, but the light itself is what I see’

Pressure pulses down onto the rolling orb catching a sliver of dark green yew

Clouds are cerebral and cerulean

She said membrane and I thought of a mass slowly turning

pushing up within the skull and squelching against the pia mater, or ‘gentle mother’

I thought of neural networks

A pathway is worn through the soft matter of the brain like a cheese wire cutting through an oyster

A sharp ejection of indigo spurts and French ultramarine

The blue hour has begun


We travelled by cable car to the island of the black Madonna

Later we sat in a cool whitewashed house eating the gorgeous fruit of the island

Yellow on the outside with squelching red flesh on the inside

With pores

And golden hairs

And with memories so painful that they cannot be spoken

Later we went to the chapel with the painting of the annunciation.

The virgin trembled whilst the angel’s wings grew to a great height.

All coloured in blended hues from lemon yellow through to gamboge to the finest pinks, golds and alizarin reds.

We made complicated shapes with our bodies on the floor

Whilst the light of God’s love shone upon us.

After the chapel we visited the gypsy cottages.

All white and squatting on the arid mountainside.

Men rode in, bareback, on huge horses.

We sipped our rum whilst the sun began to set.

The red hour had begun.


In what way is a colour complicated?

Whole parts of my brain are shut away only to be opened at great cost

There’s nothing there to nurture a mind

Absolute emptiness that kills off everything

She said a single voice


References to sounds

And three ribbons of yellow softening into two

I think of anthrax spores falling from the sky

Shedding their deadly payload on sun-bleached soil

But I can’t stand that kind of thing anymore, abjection and horror

I want to take shelter in your colours, Juliana

I want to fall into iridescence

The yellow hour has begun