age will eventually display
the grip you had on those crayons
that you have used to color-in your life’s journey
as you have become the full-fledged fill
of that coloring book, page after page.
lines will have been crossed,
blotches here and there,
cross blends of colors not listed.
possibly pages still stuck together for now,
original silhouettes of images bled through,
overriding with lack of motor skill glee.
can’t remember the specifics,
but certainly can place by memory.
there seems to be pages torn,
haphazard folds,
maybe some pages in popup fashion
and pages just plain missing.
initial pages, gross and stark
with areas where crayons never went.
middle pages, featuring colors as background tones,
images that looked like they wanted to speak,
attempts at ground-figure with shading
and hues entertaining other’s eyes
with graphics of light and darks.
ah the more recent to now,
done with less pressure on the page.
images given the sober of texture,
the import of character,
and a sense of self in code portrayed.
Initially, way back in the beginning,
the hand had a crusade and a crush of color
but these last pages, in contrast,
have a prevailing story to tell,
that no single image can convey.
but with the coloring book,
the coloring unceasingly continues
and the persuasion of the hand pervades the now,
in attempts to plainly leap off of that page
into the lap of your current sightedness,
and for you, now, to be, truly seeing . . .
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