One One Eight Two

By way of PoetryMarathon, eventually to be PoetryMarathonArchiveTwentyFour

 Gray would make all things romantic.
 I love walking most just before the sun sets
 and right after it rises.
 Everything is quiet, uncertain
 of what is expected and what is about
 to happen. Borders are the interesting places
 to watch; order and chaos, darkness and light,
 the sand and the waves and they coexist
 perfectly, never seeming to win or loose.

 This afternoon I walked home after
 a long hot sticky day
 and the familier trees were washed out, gray.
 The white blossoms that fascinated me yesterday
  walking home late
  turned my face up and 
  opened my mouth
  didn't know what to call them
  besides solid moonlight
 were on the sidewalk, and the leaves
 blended into the bark. This shocked me.
 I thought, This is not how I see the world.
 And it was like the tree suddenly
 popped into 3-D like a magic eye painting.
 I noticed the asymmetry and the outline 
 of each leaf. I noticed
 the blossom with one petal eaten away.

 You would think that everything
 would look the same in the twilight.
 Gray flowers; gray cats. Gray people.
 But headlights come on when the sun sets
 and so I write this poem for you
 who makes me believe I exist
 in a dimension beyond 3-D.