They ask me why I write.

Give me a paintbrush and you will see why.

What I wouldn’t give to blend those yellows and greens.

The blues, the peach, the rose you long to see.

To make a sky unfold.

To add mist. Blur the line.

To pull from long dark hallways, even one just passing by

What world is this

I would put a bench right before my painting.

Just close enough so you could dip in your toes and feel the tickle of grass

your high heels sinking into the wet Earth

You could come all the way in if you wanted.

Throw off your shoes. Exhale. Swirl around and around and around.

What I wouldn’t give to find the right color. A stroke for that sound.

But in this life, my words will have to do.

You should have seen it.

The sky was a pale yellow, mixed with a minty longing green.

And there were these little splashes of warm light.

Fireflies perhaps, but no, the sun was still setting.

And why not? There at the center of everything

a heart the shape of a leaf.

Raindrops rising and falling with each tender beat.

You say those are pine trees. But you could have missed something.

It could happen.

Anything can.

- Erin Frankel