Orange as the perfumed fruit hanging their globes on the glossy tree, orange as pumpkins in the field, orange as butterfly weed and the monarchs who come to eat it, orange as my cat running lithe through the high grass.
Yellow as a goat’s wise and wicked eyes, yellow as a hill of
daffodils, yellow as dandelion by the highway, yellow as butter and egg yolks, yellow as a school bus stopping you, yellow as a slicker in a downpour.
Here is my bouquet, here is a sing
song of all the things you make me think of, here is oblique
praise for the height and depth
of you and the width too.
Here is my box of new crayons at your feet.
Green as mint jelly, green as a frog on a lily pad twanging, the green of cos lettuce upright about to bolt into opulent towers, green as Grand Chartreuse in a clear glass, green as wine bottles.
Blue as cornflowers, delphiniums,
bachelors’ buttons. Blue as Roquefort,
blue as Saga. Blue as still water.
Blue as the eyes of a Siamese cat.
Blue as shadows on new snow, as a spring
azure sipping from a puddle on the blacktop.