Yellow Curve

in the beginning was Paris
he wouldn’t have listened anyway
he loved it when chance

He sees more than you or I.
A nature-shape catches his eye
            contours evolve
            aurora borealis of color.

Quadrilaterals and trapeziums
            dance on distant points, skewed.

Then, like a deranged chef
he spoons yellow pulp, wet into wet,
watches as it bleeds out.
Textural genesis—rivers flowing.

Seeing more and more,
haiku of color and shape.
Eye to hand to art.

—Mary C. Rowin