Tori Reynolds


I’ve accomplished nothing today,
imagined a poem

after spotting a cardinal
perched in a redbud:

gush of magenta,
prick of fire

my blind desire to show you
what I see.

I give up.

Some pictures
shed words like jewels of water

rolling off a mallard’s
emerald feathers.

Long ago, in art class,
a teacher showed us how to make color

appear on paper. Simple, she said,
just use a crayon.