Theory of light
Andy goes craving all over the beach
with her red grip and her red grapple.
A red apple after dark isn’t red,
it’s a black apple.
She says she’ll black up if she doesn’t have salt.
She finds a sea urchin full of holes.
What’s a blue sea after dark?
Are these the spaces where breath goes?
I find a gorgeous gold-yellow branch,
a colour, a describable friend.
We carry our findings, our branches
and urchins, from end to end.
The blue and red and yellow everywhere
is our theory of colour, of light.
Young salt-footed fools, you know there are no ends,
only ends in sight.