With fingers raw and damp
  I sensed the shape of colors
  diagrammed across the easel
  sky with wings whose feathers
  were so fine an atom would be fat;
  I wept the spectrum down my face
  and tasted rain from cloudless skies
  that clouded over crucifix and waterloo
  and clouded over buchenwald
  where thin trees drooped then
  pulled up roots to walk into a sun
  light brown and spinning 'round.
  When mama told me all's a dream
  I hit refresh upon the clock --
  five minutes more before I sleep.