prismatic—those hues altering
steel & glass & treeline & cloud
until city clarified, meant made
of light, meant palette, took on
that impossible virtue color
shades over every moving &
unmoving thing—was to find
anew any place. Nearness may be
an unlikely intimacy, but how in that
city you’d look there & keep looking
—the closest to. Maybe a gallery of
seeing. Someday an exhibit
curated of want, casting iridescent
every ordinary enough.
