Taste of Purple, Smell of Trumpet

We are the savour of death unto death

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Sound—

the hymn soaks into my skin like the autumn wind

the world is no longer deaf as me—it blazes across my

eyes, a physical swish of color at odds with my wildest

hopes

Sight—

I must have been blind before, sand and dirt flitting across

my half-open eyes

colors pulse and swim like fish—I never knew yellow was melted

gold

plated with shining sun. Blue was the true color of the

universe, the deepest ocean. Red was so much richer than

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our blood. Never knew purple felt like satin, tasted like

spring right after rain

I guess I won’t need those contacts, binoculars, telescopes,

rearview mirrors. I’m another transparent eyeball, and it’s

all close to me now, a ladybug as near and clear as the

gravity circling Saturn

Smell—

the smell of eager joy, birds flying, water plunging, you

giggling, one hand covering your mouth

Rich waft of trumpet and flute as they double back,

dropping octaves

Taste—

have you ever tasted the sunset, sampled the blur of

hummingbird wings, seasoned the storms with a little salt

and pepper, taken a bite of love or devoured a plate of

childhood evenings playing games on top of the water

barrels

Touch—

the crisp feel of a lion’s drive to spring, the smooth texture

of your confidence, like brass buttons

Everything exploding

into consciousness, pushing in

every direction, all the blind things

in the cosmos rubbing their eyes

and seeing for the first time.