Primary Colors

Between the palm and weeping willow It’s the sudden confrontation with beauty That kills you every time.

The palettes from which the skies are painted

And the grasses and the seas

Must once have belonged to children.

In my country

Even the primary colors

Are mixtures of

Birds flowers and sadness.

The edges of shadows under the trees Are sharp like a knife against your throat.

The sky is so bright it's like Booking into the face of God.

And the silence,

It's the silence

That finally betrays you.