poem: any green day unfolds pink

[somanyroses]

any green day unfolds pink

Maybe you're right,
colorblind and right,
these indigo leaves
I call turquoise
are summerlit green.  We guess.
At sundown, we'll see true.

So, these roses we don't choose,
we name their hues? Red?
I'll tell you later.  We pick
petals and thorns. Maybe.
Maybe I choose to believe.

And you're right, camellias
bloom in an iris.  We don't show
what shuteyes hold.  All I know:
what stays, eyes closed?
Stickybud twig, leaf to oak,

sparrowsong. Your birdbeat wrist. 
Maybe I name sunlight.
Maybe I believe
white lies.  I mean, I know
we'll die.  You know it, too.
Soon.  Now:  Eden!

What can we do?  Goldedged
day falls from sky's beak. Any
green day unfolds pink. All we need.

By Melissa Sillitoe