Color Poems

White at edges curled, swept away.

Even with sunglasses, you can't look up.

Range is clear.

It's a beautiful day—

unsullied by smoke trails and drifting chutes.

The motor isn't working.

Guess we'll have to wait another day

to break the sky.


Crisp curving edges

Or gently pulsing points.

At night, they glow

Only to be captured for fingers, ears, and toes.


Is the color of his shirt

and his hair are all I can see

is that they're laughing

at him happens every day

he gets mad, he is yelling

won't do me any good.

So I just sit here, and all I see is