Purest Hue

I push your words aside,
One by one:
The wide, broad outer letters;
The smaller ones,
Pleasant to hear, filled with breath;
The heated inner words.

One by one
I parted you from your words,
Until you stood out like a white page
A shivering rustle in my hand.
There is nothing to equal a white page,
Of no colour, and of all,

Soul light,
Thrust upon by a softly-swinging hand.
Words are not needed to dull
White paper,
Boundless, unstreaked agate;
It has the pale transparence of tears.

I push your words aside,
Stars crowding the moonlight,
To look at the real you:
Brightened with silver
And the purest hue,
Whiter than surfaces of ice.

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