where color lives

This washed white world
foggy forest, snow crusted land
leaches my will
even my face has turned
marble white.

I am homesick for color
greedy for bright red,
thirsty for electric green.

I know there is a place with
mornings where yellow sunlight
unrolls damp light green grasses,
bright red dahlias bloom casually,
a crickets' electric green body
gently rests on a swaying leaf.

I could go, taste soft air,
smell growing things.
If only I could rest for a while
in the easy life where color lives.