No. The sun was yellow.
It rose liquid above the
blank ribboned highway.
We were sped along it,
hands spread against the glass.
Below the light it lay, unmoving,
the blood soaked body,
and you begged it to suck air into lungs.
Open eyes. Scream out a loud high pitched
No. The balloon was yellow.
It rose lifted and moved by the breeze,
unable to lay down anchor.
Naked tree limbs reached for it.
High, with fingers stretched out,
yet too far below enough
and the balloon drifted into a great,
wide crater colored
No. The stars were yellow.
I sang below them,
all the songs you taught me to sing.
We knew, by heart.
All the notes flew into the dark sky.
Spilled themselves without shame,
Became a bright red firey
No. The ball was yellow.
The mouth drooped downward
and the eyes searched mutely,
unable to shape words.
Sad sorrowful clown.
Paint on it a smile beautiful and bright
No. The flame was yellow.
It beat hard and fast.
It was clothed in flesh and bone.
To the pain, it pleased and begged.
It did breath, after all.
Don’t tell me it was
Orange. I know what I saw, and I saw
The bright blue sky fill with warm pale light
beneath pink and purple clouds.
As long as I live I will never forget it’s hue.