Does light truly consist of all colors,
or is it the other way around? Do
dark things really redound on our horrors,
or do they tell us what we want them to?:
Well, today there was light in every place,
on, in, under rocks, leaves, clouds and sidewalks,
all the bricks beamed in bright red, and the race
of dark shadows did shine cross the crosswalks:
And my mind was brightly colored by talk,
by words about images, not letters,
as "text" that stays crisp like the freshest chalk,
and that quickens the mind without fetters:
Being fresh to death on fall afternoons
is to colors as nights are to new moons.
urbansonnets 