Color is called back
only on loan from light
this whole time.
How will I know my house
without its yellow coat,
my friend without her green soul?
The houses and souls are still there,
Sure. Just the pigment is gone.
But now we must converse
with ourselves, ask our feet
Who are you and what do you want?
Because what we are left with is conversation,
Though most have trashed their memory of speech.