Monday, January 19, 2009



Something about the shade of your hair,
and what the window revealed, that afternoon.
A congruence. Greyness in each, truth be said.

One [yours] spoke of no return. The other,
of cycle. One day overcast, the next, sunny.
Renewal. Impermanence. Wait and see.

Of note, I’ve scanned the coast. Monday
blue, Tuesday grey. Same water of a week.
Waves tossing sunlight, or not.

All proves nothing. In the end, what is color?
What color is breath? Summer, clear.
Winter -- quite billowy. Quite grey.

© Ciprianowords Inc. 2009

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