Yellow particles blind dark pupils adjacent to a garden of roses, and the unexpected moonlight ready to corrode hidden features in the pattern below.
Mapped by the willingness to survive and absent of caution in his mind, he remains concealed
by the blank canvas above.
He unveils a shadow that fits his shape, although the head of the shadow is slightly bigger.
Such mockery by the moonlight seems obtrusive and cold.
He finds a pattern within the pattern below, while his chapped lips remain touched.
Gray and white and barren and insubordinate it all appears. He doesn’t know what color is.
Vibrations within the air travel across the forest and across the moon and across the garden.
Sheltered by his shadow, and diffidence not mentioning it’s improper size, the colors turn as the sound waves are heard. Gray to red, white to blue, color refreshes his skin.
Yellow particles strike his shadow. He no longer remains hidden.