A night the opposite of the cerulean day;

The deepest dark surrounds her;

Complete with shadows, grey and mottled,

Stretching long

All around


The deft illusion

That would mold….

No, MOLD her

(instead of dessicating into another

form, she pushes forward, into the color-absent night)


she walks


the greys, the blacks, combine to imbibe her


when she finds an

open car door


(it’s 3 AM) and she should



She looks in


The shadows the

Normalcy of nothing

Scares her


As the dearth of colors keep

Her walking

2 thoughts on “Tincture

  1. Amy,
    This is strong writing and admirably with a well thought through motif. i like it very much indeed, it speaks to me.

    Best Wishes


  2. John,
    Thank you very much for your kind words. This poem went through more drafts than most. I am ever trying to improve.

    Take care,


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