A Color of Dawn

Soft widowed tendrils flame to ash, Simple draped curtains found to be made of clay; Famed cat-shells blamed as rash, The smell of spring is out today. Windows creek in the dawn of day, While fresh plants ground-it out and away. Silly carpet games I found-by a brook In the world of May. Fair canvassed Colors swim off And away. In a season called “silence” a little ill-logic can stir; I sometimes grow weary of things that don’t occur. Then again, I never expected anything; I didn’t manipulate the environment with synchronicity. But… Sometimes my shadow may get to me, Then I turn to see it hide behind reality. Hung like fish hooked steel; though copper wire Seemed so innocent. A color of dawn Painted my day, but it tends To run off And away.