The Spectrum

I know you are

empathic. No gradient

on your scale of

grace & pity.

All of us are brown

on the colour

wheel. It’s only a case of

shade

and the only shade

germane

is beneath a tree,

a bulwark from the

sun

that burns on both

the bad & good.

As for the tree

itself, it doesn’t mean

a thing

that it’s been leafless.

Nothing is too dead

beyond redemption.

There are bugs

which call it home.

Sleep the cold away.

No one is so small

they can’t be saved

I’ve heard you sigh.

Playing lifeguard

for mosquitos

in the pool, your breath

against their wings,

your love

upon their size,

as if they’d never

bleed you dry

if given the chance.

Andreas Gripp

April 10, 2025

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