for Elizabeth Weber
It’s never black and white. It’s always deep-
ocean blue and scorching gold, landscape like
a breaking wave by night, hoping to keep
memory of sun close through brash matchstrikes
of moon, breaking crest always reaching out
toward light, seething hint of mouth gasping for
air or praying for constant passion, shout-
ing to that rippling fire to flood soul’s core.
You can see it now through morning window,
the way summer sun careens off oak leaf’s
surface straight to and past your eye’s lens, glow
piercing through your psyche to where stark grief
and unbound joy somehow meld into this pure
identity, like an artist’s signature.
