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I want to write in technicolor.
Spectrum words that refract light.
Words that pass through glass.
Words that pass through flesh.
Dissolving paper to write on rainbows.
Rainbows drip ink on grass.
The grass reads my story.
Out loud.
In whispers.
It cries onto the soil.
The tears are seeds.
They plant.
They grow through their pain.
Colors reach for the sun.
On bark and branch.
Colors become leaves.
Leaves become words.
They speak their truth.
Then fall to the ground.
Browned and ready for death.
Words. Returning to the soil.
Words. Returning to me.

© zaji, 2016