I think

in colors, the

azure sky, mellow, melting


into night, after a





long day, the
rich red paint of a


shop doorway, peeling


from age and the


fingerprints of

thousands. My
heart beats butterfly-time, I

know what color
it is: the color of ink
sixteenths against a



stark white page, kaleidoscope




leaves sprinkling sunlight, the





reflection of flesh in the




clouded mirror on



my sister’s wall, that


is my
color, mixed with
another of bright


creased shirts, the


brown eyes of a


boy, the


voice of Thoreau, the

voids of our colors
overlapping, enveloping
the world, as,
the world is only
what you
think it.