GREY

the sky before a snowfall

a lake’s proper depth

a plane’s wing, another silver grey

passing through layers of cloud

soft clay squeezed by a child

a poet admiring the shadow of his index finger beneath a lamp

a third being—the grey hen,

whose costume, sunny or overcast, never changes

mildew on bread

a lover’s pallid cheeks

on paper

grey is a vague feeling

whatever color you blend

grey will surely have its part

now may I say

grey sun, grey home,

all greys, impossibly vivid