The world is done in oils
On a black background
But the sky is a watercolor
Mostly in blues and whites
Pigments make for places
That settle in and harden
Then get slowly painted over
But the air is pure fantasy
A great artist's ongoing dream
Of sailing flowers and castle faces
Where everything looks like something else
How could the same hand
Paint them both and then
Tear them into pieces every night
Only to start again come morning
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