OBSESSED WITH COLOR
November sky at dusk
puce and dirty pink;
bongos, not drums
but antelopes of Africa ,
chestnut-red
with narrow white
vertical stripes;
in the gardens of Bellingrath
just south of Mobile
banks of gum drop mums
cascade in yellow and white.
Morning star wakes me
in the middle of the night,
Venus, freshly wrapped
in horizon gold,
hands me a magic brush-baton,
and says :
“The mind too
needs to see,
needs to hear.
Compose in notes atonal
that everyone can sing.
Paint in words black and white
imagination can transmute:
noetic canvases of color
richer than the rainbow.”
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