by Daniel Fuller
The mayflies have ever danced there
in the cool sunlight, at the closing of the day,
given over to lament
and the sad, loping songs playing on the radio.
The branches about them make art
of the muted wood on the walls
and it is time to let go
time for me to make unhappy watercolours of myself
—the day has abandoned colour now
and this hour draws something wretched from my voice
such that I can forget this city
and almost speak in the manner of colonial streets.
To speak nothing of the gap between
evenings spent on buses in a place big enough for my tragedy
and this hateful serialism
from which a yearning cello rises and falters, like rain.
Daniel Fuller (he/him/sé/é) is a British-Irish writer and musician. Currently based in Oslo, he draws inspiration from land and country, as well as the personal and relational. His work has been published in Rust + Moth, The Madrigal and The North Magazine, and was shortlisted in the 2020 Bridport Prize.
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