I close my eyes. The color goes.
What do you propose I call it?
BLACK as black. The circadian throes.
Death moving on for the Stoic
to hook-up with some other thing
Not a monstrous god, a strangling ring
but a slippery tickling flying stay.
However probing the BLACK seems grey.
Has the noon warmed my eyeball?
I watch it rise, spread out and wall
a sun coming up as tall as a hall.
And I wonder in space how my face
is doing. Is it spreading over corners of disgrace?
Making me feel unworthy of the size of light
coming at me or fading away.
Is this it? A fit on the way?
A rhapsody of shades, an explosion in sight!
In the Fall
Published in Poetry