A Color That Has Lived

The canvas
had dried under the sun.

At first
I meant to add a little more blue.

If it was grass,
it seemed it should be green.

I lifted the brush.

Then
I looked again beneath the horse's feet.

Dried grass.

Grass that had long taken the sun
and long taken the wind.

The green
was already gone.

And yet
it did not look dead.

With my fingertip
I mixed a little color.

Not yellow,
not brown,
a color like grass dried in the sun.

“What color
is that?”

I
looked at the painting once more

and said,

“A color that has lived.”

I did not
put the green back.

Nor did I
lighten the black pine.

Under the sun
a horse
stood in that color.