Light, the subtlest magic,
the tinged fingers of shadow,
prismed seeping from hue to hue,
a rose petal blushed pink gold,
and falling palest lemon,
white browned with the age of dying,
blue indigo ipomea—
look again—the purples curl fuchsia,
gilding the green,
elusive reptilian, amber-eyed.
Where did they go,
the certainties of painted palettes?
Into the wind with ephemera and spring-song,
the dew drops drunk by new turned earth.