It can be a wound
; deep . . . in your eyes. You look into the distance; through
a yearning canvas, a waiting brush
Red: tears of the last sunlight, wound from shadow-boxing desire . . .
Yellow: Sun does not die away in the dark; they say, Hope still there. I say, the flooded loneliness, boundless, is reaching for that unknown touch . . .
Green: Shade of dark forest; Rain; Awakening of spirit after a long and dry day
Blue: Cave for your tiresome soul . . .
White: homesickness; an opening door in a snowy night; a long-waiting embrace, I hesitate to say, of Love.