Color Blind

He’s decided that he’s had enough of color.

So he’s asked that I erase what hues I’ve used on him.

He wants to walk into the white and gray and black array

of something that, when you glance back then look away,

you won’t remember if you saw. Now his colors dim

to raw in front of him and brim out off his back like

streamers in parades gone by. He slides a sidelong eye

at me as if now to imply (I think, I’m never sure) I’m

bringing him to destiny. He says, “now do the rest of me” –

by which – I think (again, I’m never sure) – he means

he’s got the best of me and soon will leave me to endure

the certainty I never will know more. Will I be doing

with or without colors then? What am I doing

with them now? Again, I’m never sure.

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