they’re a soft orangey-gold
like golden-hour lighting
but not like the intense orange-autumn-auburn color Of Mice and Men is
fuzzy, and soft
much more golden
like a dream almost
with a white hazy halo almost
gentle like bird’s wings
sleepy
when there’s rain clouds but everything is still bright
petrichor
red wine (the cheap kind)
cinnamon? or a spice cabinet
hugs warm like a morning in an arizona summer
blood on concrete, but it’s drying
creaking
birds in the morning
dawn-blue sunlight through a window
that halo of sunlight around the edge of a sleeping form in the morning
tufts of fur floating through the air
black, orange, white, sandy, cream, russet, like dandelions
the guitar in this song
drips of black on something colorful
the world in earth-tones
the world in pastels
“the love-light in your eyes”
something wonderful swelling in your breast like a robin’s song but softer
crickets in the wood, fireflies
solid black in a glass jam jar with a white lid, sharpie scribbled on the top
“emotions”
a leather-bound journal battered, worn, and loved, with yellowing, ink-stained pages
silence that speaks volumes and colors
melting ice cream
“a hundred red birds / released from a wooden box” (yusef komunyakaa, “fragging”)
