Red, red, red

i met a man who
   could not see
      any colour.

   though i love
      to see colour,
i didn't pity;

   the man with
      no colour
was good as any.

he lived his way,
      making this 
   world his own.

he wasn't disabled
      in any way. 

      nobody knows 
what other senses
he may have had.

      he wasn't talking
about such things.

      perhaps there is
no way to speak of
   unshared visions.

we all walk alone.

Fuzzy Focus

   is it never
      beautiful
   when it 
looks out 
      of focus?

   focus is
   certainty.
and we seem
      to like it.

      but is it
ever to be
      really
   trusted?

too much time
   in easy chairs
might make
my back ache.

   sometimes i
   need to find a
less comfortable
      pastime.

   i need to 
      refocus on
certainty and
      learn to see
the never seen,

   and maybe
   understand
beyond focus,
   where there
are different
      beauties.

Phlox in a Sunbeam

   on hands and knees
i twist and stretch
looking for an image
      i could love,

   up above it all,
      a golden light
cruises overhead.

   but shadows move
imperceptably
      slowly. 

   so things change.
i see no movement,
      and so it is.

   my vision has no
   great value. i
      do not matter.

   and there it is!
      the very thing
i wanted, picture
   of joy, summer
      on a screen.

   i'll put it
      on a page.
someone will
surely love it.
      so i like to 
   think, anyways

Colchicum

   autumn, in our
garden is still
      a lively place

   things change
   as the light
begins to fail

      while now,
honey bees,
   are back

      and colchicum
   suddenly comes up
(we had forgotten)


from distant fires
      imported smoke
   has come again

fueled by 
   dry things, 
      untended

   by some who
      do not care.
our world burns up

      they think it
is their world.
   but i don't care

      whose name
   is on their deed.
(their smoke is ours)