Black 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 |