Little Rose Sight

Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,

an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.

Burning the Old Year, Naomi Shihab Nye, 1952

The rose colored glasses were where?

For a moment everything was red there,

Or only the thought that it was.

A light at the end of the tunnel was something.

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Ending at an and,

It passed by so suddenly.

What if now isn’t?

Sentences create an

Open space, letters leave languid absence.

Words bubble up like soda pop, spilling into silent shouts.

Above, the curtains blow, while below celebrates.

Fireworks illuminate leaves,

Painting them into fuchsia, a

Flower illusion. All that’s left on the lines is space.