One day we started to notice magenta
the shyest sister on the color wheel
in the first and last sunlight in sudden
cyclamen a few birds those fleeting
silvery threads they paste of blue
we started to have magenta sightings
and feel when it would pass by
or through we could not catch it but
it became the rarest pleasantest thing
to sense its unexpected presence
waiting at the center of gravity
I should have said the grave is a brain
for which magenta carries it
a river of mercy across
the heart and back again.
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