You ask me to think about paint colors,
and the soft gray you’ve chosen.
The hue of it is blue, but it reflects
a green during midday, when the sun is highest.
Blue is a color that knows no season, and paints the infinite sky
while green implies the growth of things – dotting where the eye sees.
Grey, itself – like clouds obscure the sky or fog obfuscates the landscape.
Such a color – gray/grey – spelled two ways yet has a continuum of sound transitioning between “a” and “e”
– in both, the sum is intermediate.
I slow down the diphthong
and try to catch the tones between the chromatic versions.
I voice this change in sound color aloud, with the intention
to consider them without interference.
You give me a sideways glance
and say, ”No, I meant, how do they look?”
A poem originally written in 2015 during NaPoWriMo, dusted off and reworked here.