Verge of a Dream: Gray

Whatever color it is
A hovering gray
Of a sky, of a day
There is feeling of
a careful distance
From the several
window panes
To stay.
With the glass
as an empty
sunroom will.
Whatever color it is.
A tear stain gray
in years so still the
drawn in cell walls
become by
discouraged dreams
of home.
Whatever color it is.
An age made gray
why ask
when it became
white… perhaps made
In the small agony
of surprises
each time
in the
image the
mirror provides.
Though not in lying,
It will not make
plain the next
time is not the
last time.
The finger snap
of one time
already passed.

RLB 04/28/2022