Color is called back

only on loan from light

this whole time.

How will I know my house

without its yellow coat,

my friend without her green soul?

 

The houses and souls are still there,

Sure. Just the pigment is gone.

But now we must converse

with ourselves, ask our feet

Who are you and what do you want?

Because what we are left with is conversation,

Though most have trashed their memory of speech.