Colors from catalogs
fade like awnings in southern sun
Things vanish drift and switch
like relatives departing after funerals
like offspring all grown up
who don't seem to need you
anymore
But they are important
museums of looking,
insurance against monotony
The real news
year by year
is a field of ambition
the chance for parade
where somebody
just might tell you
the truth
This infected mixture
of happy and sad ...
it’s a feeling
speaking in paradoxes
And when it hits you
what a catastrophe, what a relief