I can not remember
if I dream in color,
but I wake and know
I have never seen a rainbow's shadow.
I know in a yellow chick's hatching
only pierced or chocolate eggs are hollow.
I know by their shinning
in the chapel's window
there are no monochrome saints.

Sometime, somewhere
in the six days of creation,
the Creator created color
to explode like a kaleidoscope
in our eyes.
Red courage.
Purple majesty.
White purity.
Sea paint green.
Indian paintbrush meadow.

I have to dream in color
to see the blue grass
of Kentucky home.
The white crosses at Arlington.
Striped ribbons of marshy reeds
blackbird crowned and half wind digested,
waving like flags or prayers in tatters
in the low country of Flanders.

Yes, I dream in color.
Yes, I wake and know
only my love for you
is black and white.