I read so I can live more than one life in more than one place.
Anne Tyler
"Contrast," she said, "is what art's all about."
I stopped and ruminated on her leafy words.
Sometimes my mind's a giraffe,
and her idea was elevated enough.
Contrast sensitivity was thought to be fixed,
and that it would only worsen with age.
While as I age and experience more,
the more contrasts are my focus.
So I turned to stare again at my love's face,
her dark hair against her white skin.
Her dark moods against her smile,
my love for her against all others.
"Contrast," I said, "is what love's all about."
I stopped and ruminated on my starry words.
Sometimes my mind's a space shuttle,
and my idea was burnt by the sun.
My eyes melted under such luminance;
no contrast, no trace; all flamboyance.
