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,
clenched anemones,
evening grass,
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.