Black comes from holes                  Inevitably
insides of stones                       hours later
the clutter of shadows                  black still black

It is kept in boxes                     Conclusion of day
wrapped in bundles                      barely color at all
stacked on shelves                      the Z color

Always waiting                          A dead rat folds over
always patient                          in a corner black
everything else first                   a dead cat more black

Black is calm and quiet                 Black so quiet
a silent reprove                        it makes a shovel
in any bother                           its flower

Black's position                        Who thinks much
may be said to be                       of black
"Take another look"                     braids its laces

It has a quality
of giving pause
perhaps from history

Old blacks named
for cats and witches
misfortune evil deeds

The old black of sleep
or dying dour
a bone in its lapel

Poor black bad company
cast out like shadows
sun had turned away

Punctuation for all
occasions a recurring
comma in the days

Always more black
Spring cloak of roots
flutter of damp wings

Rows of nights rising
necklace of dreams
hidden tied in sleep

Where the sea rests
it is black
where the sky goes

Dennis Saleh