deep indigo of the blueberry,
saturated primaries of the King Parrot,
ochres painted by the setting sun,
is exquisite pain; I want its DNA,
to become the silence of the desert night,
whisper of quarks in the inky blackness,
nocturnal song of the African bush,
to inhale sensation of crushed silk,
embody cool water on skin,
synthesize oblivion of deep sleep.
But these are lambent shadows,
of some ancient sense –
when observed, they are gone.