Many portraits line the halls
Of this great dark sphere,
Indelible shades of life, lives,
Watercolored on us all.
Overflowing, I slosh around and at and onto.
Absorbing, I flock and bathe and preen
And think alone
And fly unknown;
Most birds are crows.
Some are red-winged blackbirds, though,
Bearing color shared—
To my view an especial splash
Amid the usual impenetrable dark:
Red igniting darkness in darkness.
They bear these beacons bright to me
Amidst their other colors,
Mixed to blackness, not perceived.
I shuffle on through lanes of painted gods,
Trading dots where we cross,
Each other’s bearings for a moment fast, then lost.