In a moment things can change color,
the fall of light, the path of clouds,
reflection’s edges …
My thought trails behind perceptions —
I reach for color names
but cannot find them

Or I still think the walls are yellow
long past the time that shadow
has rendered them something else —
Is it a weakness of language,
or of my nimbleness of mind,
or some efficient function
of what I need to know?

— As evening pulls the corners into umber,
leaving golden glows around the lamps.

©Wendy Mulhern
January 20, 2019