Some people 'know' the world in blocks of black and white
and etch and print images for all to see.
Some others find colors in the white light spreading
through darkness beyond life's dream
yet still they cage these subtle, shifting things.
They tell me a rainbow has seven hues, and if I listen too closely I see that.
They speak of rocks trees and skies and tell me how they look.
They even try fitting the shimmering sea to words
as if one could bite out of chaos.

A color is but the unwanted
when things take their measures of light.
We see what they aren't, all rhythms rejected by finity,
found and frozen
within churning patterns of interreflection about us.

I don't think colors are bad.
They're just little, and lovely,
as small as can be
as we order chaos to keep but one world
within momentary eyes,
such eyes as I see
were made to be broken.




© G. Cassel 2004