Frequency

Did you know color is a sound? A vibrating holy hum.

Maybe a whisper, maybe a drum. I don't know from which one I come.

I think myself gentle, like the blues of an ebbing stream.

I wish myself timeless, like the earth's first green.

But one cannot choose their hues, or labor pigment into pageantry.

It is prose.

It is frequency.

It is the distance from myself to me.

Oh! Call me a color I can ring out of my clothes.

A sopping saturation that marks me for repose.

To rest in the reds of an ending day.

To dream under the golden glow of a moon, earth's away.

LOUD. CLAMOROUS. BRIGHT.

To be seen with such confident light.

But my waves are still finding their truest length.

Crashing, then receding, bleeding the gray of strength.

I am a rhythm, a slant-rhyme, an utterance complex and undefined.

I will look with all my soul, and I will not fear the sound.