Taste of Purple, Smell of Trumpet

　　We are the savour of death unto death

　　Sound—

　　the hymn soaks into my skin like the autumn wind

　　the world is no longer deaf as me—it blazes across my

　　eyes, a physical swish of color at odds with my wildest

　　hopes

　　Sight—

　　I must have been blind before, sand and dirt flitting across

　　my half-open eyes

　　colors pulse and swim like fish—I never knew yellow was melted

　　gold

　　plated with shining sun. Blue was the true color of the

　　universe, the deepest ocean. Red was so much richer thanThe tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

　　 our blood. Never knew purple felt like satin, tasted like

　　spring right after rain

　　I guess I won`t need those contacts, binoculars, telescopes,

　　rearview mirrors. I`m another transparent eyeball, and it`s

　　all close to me now, a ladybug as near and clear as the

　　gravity circling Saturn

　　Smell—

　　the smell of eager joy, birds flying, water plunging, you

　　giggling, one hand covering your mouth

　　Rich waft of trumpet and flute as they double back,

　　dropping octaves

　　Taste—

　　have you ever tasted the sunset, sampled the blur of

　　hummingbird wings, seasoned the storms with a little salt

　　and pepper, taken a bite of love or devoured a plate of

　　childhood evenings playing games on top of the water

　　barrels

　　Touch—

　　the crisp feel of a lion`s drive to spring, the smooth texture

　　of your confidence, like brass buttons

　　Everything exploding

　　into consciousness, pushing in

　　every direction, all the blind things

　　in the cosmos rubbing their eyes

　　and seeing for the first time.