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There is a word and there is a patch of yellow paint.
Moments before his death Bergotte stares at Vermeer’s View of Delft and yearns to capture the tiny patch of yellow wall.
The word – yūgen – says there are no words. It indicates we can step through a doorway, see the shadow of bamboo on bamboo.
My desk is yellow, the ceiling, my list of things to do. In the softness of this early morning light the light is soft and yellow and there are no words.
From Between Dusk and Darkness
You, barely 20, watched my sleeping face. And the moonlight really did move across it. And you wept.
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I pulled up my hair and you leant forward to kiss the nape of my neck. The memory is so clear, so vivid, so outside of time, that even now as I write I lift my hand to touch the spot where your mouth pressed against my skin.