Things in Black and White

Things in black and white
Fabrice Poussin

It was an experiment in perception,
with the power given to the meek.

A robe was painted black against a white wall,
deep within a New Mexico desert abode.

She walked I believe, in her gossamer dress,
the sand of grains in amazement played along;

sweet light of sunset too joined in the game,
a veil of aromas only hers, mixed with a dewy shine.

Mountains stood to support her noble flight,
swirling to match the motion of a lonely Earth;

her head thrown back, she needed no direction;
she was, she is; her skin of a lightly reddened hue.

Yet to all others, no nuance, no fragrance, no sense,
without the imagination to make the image live.

She alone, fiber after fiber, filled with a burning flame,
can see a blue, feel a green, scent the gold of a heart;

fantasy it is to be admitted to the full self of her,
to enter twixt her every cell as it is whence she exists.

Electric, she replicates a Mona Lisa, perfect reflection
in a body, hers, a body, the size of a star, the size of the atom.

Every spark is a smile, an act of love deeply felt,
black, white, gray, what does it matter in the dark?

The fire needs no tone, no light, no color, for it lives
and she breathes in it from the alpha to the omega.