It is very likely that blue is your favorite color.
So, when I tell you I bought a bucket
of the most beautiful blue paint,
you might picture a hue that makes you smile
200 square feet of canvas stared blankly
upward from the studio floor looking past
the ceiling and into the blue sky beyond.
Imagine a Colorado sky.
I’d made a promise to thrill the canvas
fill the upside with liquid blueness.
Can your mind conjure canvas
painted blue, edge to edge?
and when I say I unlocked the car trunk
and put this gallon inside and drove back
to the studio, you can hear the trunk lid shut.
Now, let your mind create a blue painting.
Wet blue paint drying on canvas, the aroma
of fresh paint not unlike active bread yeast.
Your mental image will have to do,
because that blue paint and canvas never met.
The paint bucket in the trunk followed
the basic rules of physics as I turned a corner
on the drive to the waiting empty canvas.
As I drove I smelled bread baking.
The canvas remains canvas colored.
The paint never reached the studio
it never became a painting, but,
served as an excuse for a poem.
The interior of my trunk is a glorious color.
I bet you would like it.