Color Left Unturned

Somewhere a plant has purple leaves,

somewhere else, two purple peppers 

grow side by side like cots

if beds could make friends.

I lived by a stop sign

that faded into a gray and white

equivocation, the lack of color

impling suggestion.

The color left the gray faces

under the gray blanket overpass,

where eyes don’t pass over.

Mine didn’t, anyway.

My gaze was deflected 

by a black wheelchair, black shoes

and the black implication

I’d lose color by looking too long.

The rainbow pinballs 

off mirrored eyes, entranced

by patterned kaleidoscope reflections,

where living is easy.

I’ve been dropped into today

like pollen landing on a leaf,

trying to hold my gaze 

where color left 

trying to realize in slow drops 

of a faucet leaking darkness

on the other side

there is something better