Fifth Hour

New pigments appear and

new shades contrive themselves

surf coming in my retinas

like a thief grabbing his loot

lonesome dove airplanes a thought

when indifference

of bored God strews

black soil to the south

yellow breeze east

white snowdrift to the north

red fire onto western

colors to drape the winds

while afternoon forgets

its place then color bands

loop and intermingle

pigment molecules stir the last shades

of the spectrum into pale

and gray emerging

with new dogmas and ever-newer

absolutions absurd and

frivolous petty and ironic

proportioning the

indifference of a creator

who put his whims before the

needs of nature At last

nightingale’s song appeals

to my sensitive ears and curiosity

while lilac blooms answer

by the gray pigment of pain

shrugging its shoulders and hanging by

the beard of an unwashed monk

announcing in all seriousness:

who cares?