About gray

There’s a simple fidelity about gray,
a dedication to a hungry truce
between shadow and saturation
with neither party harboring fears,
both meeting in mild meadows
among flowers that shine brighter
with no competitive thievery
to douse their singular flames;
blue skies, on their conditional reign,
will repaint the land clean and clear
until the nubile skin begins to dry,
until the thirst reaches fever pitch
in anticipation for the drumbeat
of a spring rain with orchestra in tow,
and then the filter will fall once again,
the scales tipped to even and green
while anxious children with no thirst
fret and squirm under their chains
imagined, yes, but no less confining.

(dtn)