Palette (a poem)

A New York Times video, winter weather, and some canvases and paints I haven’t touched yet (because I like to paint out on my deck, and it’s too cold).

How many colours have you seen in these clouds?
Did you think they’d be your last
or was it wishful thinking?
Outlines disappear when grey skies turn to rain
and twilight approaches
I consider the other side, then decide to stay where I am
The trench isn’t deep enough to provide shelter
though the water rises as the snow melts
What is the colour of wishful thinking?
I may need a new set of paints

(12 February 2019)


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