Where Violet May Hide

I met a poet by chance, at a bookstore the other day and I'm finding words are pouring down around me suddenly, all around me, like leaves falling. I'm picking them up, much more deliberately, much more slowly, taking time to really look them over. Not just the bright side, but the muted side as well. Handling them carefully. Maybe I will paste them in an album.

He is making me see things in a different way. I think my new eyes are up to the job.

I just read this, "violet is red withdrawn from humanity by blue." I guess when blue takes you by the hand, you don't resist.

I feel ready to withdraw from humanity into dark dark blue. I guess I feel a little red, and ready to hide under a violet blanket.

He made me dig out old poems and I showed them all to him. I've been forgetting so many things about my quiet self, but he might help me remember.