This feeling of constancy.
This moment before the storm
when ideas perch on
the rough-hewn red fence of the mind.
for colors to drop onto his innocent wings.
To say his feathers are the color of eternity
would do little justice
his colors are those of infinity.
The colors that glisten through solitary rain drops
The colors you cannot possibly find the words to describe
Upon the return of the chaos
gliding above necessities
letting color drip from wings onto them.
he perches again
now the color of the sky
before the storm
bloodied by the setting sun
the embodiment of color
And amidst this chaos
he is doing darting acrobatics through the air
begging desperately to be captured
yet always in love with freedom
you want to put him to parchment
inscribe him in your skin
he is fleeting.