These hours are the hours of the absence of color
where eye strains the socket for a hint of something else
brown and white and brown abound
O'er time and hope stretches thin my soul!
Winking in the corner of my eye, a flash of color
orange and silver, discarded cellophane wrapper.
I'm still these days, listening to silent monologue
searching branches for the bird which is lost
(mourning dove, gray coo of summer).
Stroll on, roll on, growing splendor
upturn your hands and drink in the light.
Green and green and green, ope your eyes!