Blue

my green

That almost sounds like the start to an e e cumming’s poem, doesn’t it?

blue
my new
g(reen)
(
across the 
p
a
lette
leans red/yellow
tumbles
stumbles
fumbles on
     to the
canvas primed; 
to-day of all-days
     blue is (but still my 
green)

With apologies to Cummings’s name and posterity.