That summer, I transformed
Not into my usual moth, but
Into a butterfly mesmerised by
The beauty of all the flowers
I suddenly found.

As the years lengthened,
That moment seemed to shrink
From 12” mix to radio edit,
From novel to film adaptation,
From a chapter to a footnote
Under the tyranny of an editor’s ink.

So many things I failed to say,
And yet it is her possible silence
To which my imagination returns:
The most pessimistic fantasy I could
Invent; the hardest, most improbable
Secret to keep.

It has grown from the guilt I feel
For taking so long to realise
I should feel it; from that most
Circular of emotions that is
Remorse for lack of remorse.

It was a moment I wished
Could last forever: my greatest fear
Is that it actually did.

07/31/2017

Posted on 08/19/2017
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