and yet have loved each coming, going blaze
each phase, willed and thrilled to every flame
that brightened the illusion
then let me know death as one who foresees
breath's end to seize a new beginning
through the soul's transfusion
mood on a string
again the after rain and shine of night
when mellow yellow patternings of light
make rivers run through streets of mirrors bright
to where the air brings thought from its seclude
as though a silver magnet drew a rood
about the mind's internal solitude
then is the darkness gentle to my sight
with glossy lamps to toss me into flight
and give to sleep the freeness of a kite
that after storm can rise in amplitude
above the clinging wet still unsubdued
to sail in lonely splendor wind pursued
time is a palette
each day has its color
radiates
each day its own color
on the wheel
endlessly
and they are wrong who say
all colors are gray
they are blind
or else
unimaginatively