Splash by Eve West
cover photo by the author
2002, 28 pages
More Sublime Need
Color is reflection of light not absorbed. Lime
is everything but, and tangerine’s orange rind
is the estrangement of that very shade. Lately,
I wonder at the things not said. The weight we
choose to carry on, when there is no clear sign
and emotion bounces back off topic. I’m
not sure where the light goes then. In line?
In scattered fragments? Pieces of the prism beam?
Color is reflection.
If I can’t adjust my angle of perception in time,
I may miss your meaning, or at least the more sublime
need you express between words. A theme
of longing for something I will never absorb seems
to be in question. How to hold and define
the pigment of love when color is reflection?
Ripples form the flesh of wood.
Petals form the rose’s wings.
Rivers form so many things.
Kisses tease the softest guilt.
Shadows test the truest noon.
Beaches wait to swallow the moon.
Ripples of wood.
Petals of wings.
Rivers hurry so many things.
To barren silt,
To wilt too soon,
This wood, this wing,
This wild perfume.