\Back to Poetry\
I. Darkness (so they say)
but not emptiness.
II. Fluting notes bend through a symphony rich
etching Beethoven's silhouette
into the whiteness of my mind.
The melody spirals
a spectrum of waxed color
unknown to any
Like the colors I've seen in the rumble of an approaching storm:
I've heard lavender and silver dance together
in the CraCK that shudders my windowpane.
I've felt grey's sweetness in the soft dropping rain
and copper colors in the strong fingers of the autumn wind.
I've tasted emerald in the wet stillness bowing after each
III. Most people think a blindman's world is dark.
But if white is as you say it is:
like a porcelain tea cup
with rippled edges
and a gently curving handle
elegantly embracing the warmth
of peppermint tea,
then white is the color that I see.