The Green Ray

— After Eric Rohmer

 

They say there’s a small fishing town

fastened to France’s left ankle

that carries a holy name

where women walk at regular hours

 

And don’t tell me it’s a fish-wife’s tale

cause I heard it from a butcher:

right as the sun crests the sealine

like the fish-wife’s husband

leering over his shoulder at us

only stoic snappers in a writhing bucket

just two ticks before the door swings shut—

 

A flash of green

paints a leaping tuna across the sky

blinds the buzzard who drops to catch it.

And when you see it you can read your own feelings and others’.

 

My love let’s to the hillside and see the green ray!

pronto pronto moshi moshi

our backs turned against basque country

fortune tellers and the future— 

 

You wearing that fantastic red blazer— 

We can take each other’s arm

speak the same language

 

Like Cohen said ‘when you mean to tell me you have no love to give me’ and 

you think to turn 

and cry

sweet moment: the sun’ll answer for us

Do you know what I mean?

 

No world to come. Tomorrow

peeks through its fingers

from the eye of the banister— 

I made a killing from his likeness

as a boy, gathered

wood to build a proverb

 

Now I have only this,

then I’ll shut up forever:

sharing a bench with you

might make life possible again.

 

Caravans drag-race the beach below us,

the only people in the world not moving

because every watch tells the wrong time

now my salaryman shoes have come undone,

I don’t know what I’m saying, other than 

a dog broke the Pyrenees’ back to get here,

gift-horses in his jaws, my insides 

are turning on the hook and;

too late—we’re stood in a packed train,

destination Paris, playing word games with children.

Words by Chris O’Reilly. Art by Naia Searight.