That’s blue, the poem
Of an early egg, a spray of foam
Or green, spit from a single shoot
Pushing, highward, violent root
Fond yellow, come? see? dandelion?
The beige of memory, sand, of time
More purple, spilt in royal light
‘Gainst grey and brown
Near black’s smooth sight
A crimson filament,
The brightest hue, the strongest thread.