I spoke to someone the other day
Who says he only sees in black and white,
Though he's learned to talk about gray
As if it really exists,
When he knows the world has nothing in it
And the darkness far underwater,
And the emptiest hours of night.
So I tried to talk to him about prisms,
And Navajo sand painting,
And luminescent jellyfish,
And the relative temperatures of stars,
But the word that kept coming out
"How sad," you said when I told you,
"But you can't always change the way
Other people see."
And you went back to reading the paper.
And I nodded without agreeing,
And stirred my turquoise coffee
And spread another pat of pale blue butter
Across the crimson toast.