1. Red-eyed, not weary, we feed
on the rarefied
aerial leavings of gruntled clouds.
2. An Orange gap carves out when
the gobbling is done,
and strings are strung tight across that lap.
3. These six wires grate full Yellow
hymns into fine crumbs,
sifting down through curious weather.
4. The suppler notes land to Green
and moisten stretched tongues
on mannered ferns eager to praise sing:
5. Of powder Blue complexions,
spent wings to totter off at twilight,
6. In search of Indigo fins
and shallow pools where
they might paddle up enough courage,
7. To ask the Violet sky
to stay its blushing
hues, so he'll never be wak'd again.
— Francis Scudellari