Who Knows What to Call that Color?

Look about! Rout the air

around your here-and-there

by intuition and by eye!

Free your pesky essences

to fly up to the not-blue-who-

knows-what-to-call-that-color sky –

with its arrays, displays and phases,

dips and rises of its cream-gray-

beige-green-lavender fragilities:

facilities at ease with, and evincing,

something like the tenor and the texture

of the wanton hues you’d readily

imagine would prepare you

for whatever views,

should they be granted,

you’d be shown of Soul.

If you’d like to, gaze with rue at others

who pass through the Whole

as if it were a color-free vacuity.

(What a nothing day!, they say.)

But don’t pray that they find a way

to see its harrowingly gorgeous panoply.

We’ve all our separate eyes and cares.

Who dares say they know what ours are,

much less theirs?

But wheee! Stick around for you and me

and these dimensional immensities:

teasing from the sky new sips and senses,

whiffs and glimpses of its being,

and of the heat and light and art of seeing.

.