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Sport 39: 2011
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What was it drew it me, supplicant, to the land of umbrellas and overhead wiring?
Looking back, all I remember is shame.
I tore off the bedclothes and threw my dead marriage in the street.
In the difficult second half of one’s forties, in the darker waters of the second act, an intemperate history gives up its harvest of incomplete labours and a solitude indulgent and methodical.
This was the darkness in which I looked East, as if I could sense what the poets had promised, walking by starlight, gradations of blackness, a lemon-coloured rumour of light below the pre-dawn horizon.