april 1 is for poetry


I have worked with you
long hours sifting voices
the hot scratch
of dusty sunlight
the twitch of shoulders
under homespun
and written you simply
in landscape.

Everyone felt it a good fit.
But I wanted more
I wanted the texture
the fabric of life
the words woven
across paper in colour,
brilliant sparkling truths.

I tried the natual progression
of uniform colour.
I tried to interpret
the habitual square
a section of land
boxed history
tilting to abstract
in neutrals once again
but bright with ragged edges.

This time I was sure
the clear strong colours
of prairie light would settle round.

Back and fore grounds
hummed all night
defeating sleep.

I awoke to violet,
the darkest colour of the rainbow
the colour before
a thundering rain
to find you
whispering hues, voicing
the gift in clear blue.