Blue. Blue. Grey. Strange how that color fades
as light gets stronger. Strange how
the gold horizon darkens as the sun
rises. Topaz flashes
from the windows of downtown skyscrapers
and the bumpers of cars westbound
across the river, toward the hills.
Steel-grey frowns in winter; indigo smiles in summer.
Waves of polished jade curling
to blinding-white crests:
burning gold at sundown, black silhouettes
of giant rocks, improbable arches
and low-flying pelicans in groups of three or five.
Dun beaches stretch away. The tideline
reveals agates milky as cataracts.
We polish them. An eye looks back.
A dozen different ethnic foods
each under its own
distinctive awning. Markets full of clothes, spices, jewelry
from every corner of the round earth. Eighty or more
languages spoken by storekeepers, cab drivers
public school students, women at the mall
restaurant owners, gardeners, teachers and preachers
you, me, him and her. No rainbow ever had
this many colors.
is a mirror
with no color of its own.
Lean me near a window and I'll reflect
whatever's out there. Tilt me
at just the right angle: I'll refract
and throw rainbows across the floor.
If there's a thunderstorm, I'll trap
the lightning and crack with thunder.
If I'm left long enough, I'll turn slowly blue
and fill with Heaven.
Collection available! Knocking from Inside
Wednesday, May 30, 2012