New Poem

Study in Red

Not a shred of it
not in rolling river
nor mid-day sun-drenched
sky nor trees limned against
the etched and eerie never-ending horizon,
nor in the grass-bleach--burnt white
by rainless days and dewless evenings
nor in the road that threads
the landscape, nor in the wildflowers
relentlessly blue, so blue, so sky-blue deep
blue that they tip the scales
and roll into purple.
                                  There. . .
there in purple-petaled blossom
splendor it hides, the only tinge
the only suggestion of it in
the whole world.

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