On paper
So pliant

Receptive
Susceptible

to flushes
of color
Light’s various tempos
mark time

Like the still life of a simple peach
the memory of which
may suffice

if only
its furry down
had brushed my skin

enervated its light with
illuminated paint

that gooey substance
that somehow breathes

its flow of

COLOR

so varied in all its hues
an entire spectrum of softer things
that might deliver us

from people

who tell us
what is right
and what is wrong