Saturation

In the slow drip of last February

In the sterile chair

As my body sipped from the IV,

A colony of cells diminished

With each chemical wash.

With colors dimmed to the Plato’s cave

Of daytime tv,

I remembered every June

Like the joy of nectarines,

The drowsy goldenrod of bees,

Sienna oaks bowing to slow indigo’s dusk,

All the past emerald pastures,

All the azured ebbing tides.

In the dove gray hush

I counted all my colors

Like childhood’s hopeful stadium

Of crayoned people.

Today I stood at my easel

And the blank canvas

Boiled with such a spectrum of beauty

I had to close my eyes.