Mortality does not
wear black, but tender,
ephemeral shades of green,
proffered in grass
calligraphies as tenuous
continuities...
And it wears eluent,
eloquent blues of every hue
the Earth can yield,
crystallised as gems
and stylised as peacocks'
eye-like plumes:
turquoise and Delft,
cerulean,
empyrean ultramarine;
sapphire and lapis, indigo,
cobalt, kingfisher, teal;
the iris of infinity
adores the key of blue.
Mortality's prism
refracts its spectrum
clear as a bell ringing true:
the needle's eye,
the lancet window
weightless rays of souls
pass through;
the eye a slit in the tent
made flesh, eluded by
what cannot be viewed...