See my colors fall apart? Green <br />to yellow with just one shade gone, <br />the changing tints of your sun-struck eyes, <br />if there were sun. Today the prism held to mine’s <br /> <br />a prison, locking in the light. In one of those mirrors <br />the colors are true. In one of these pictures the pigment’s <br />my own. The sound there is aquarelle and indigo, <br />and dripping distant water, the day’s habitual failure <br /> <br />to be anything substantial. Today a blank like color <br />by numbers, filled in with fog that frames the lake <br />in transient tones. That’s the color I mean, some mist <br />painting the shore pastel and pointillist <br /> <br />rain, painting the shadow between window and light. Today <br />each hue dissolves in humid air, transparency <br />I try to grasp and then let go, clear overflow <br />of waves on gravel. The mist with its single-dipped brush <br /> <br />smears itself across the canvas of the pines. <br />The pines, knowing no better, run together on a morning <br />palette. Today the scene’s dismantled, that can’t be <br />dismissed. I once was blind, but now <br /> <br />I see my landscape attenuate itself, drowned lake <br />of evergreens. On a morning like this with new crayons <br />I drew a man, that red valentine <br />in the side. The picture of two hands scrawling the outline <br /> <br />where only one thing’s missing; the crayons scattering <br />from childish fingers. Color me or leave me vacant<br /><br />Reginald Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blue-7/
