dyslexic begonias

On Chiaroscuro
04 FEB 2003
Nothing holds a shape without its shadow,
that place at the edge where the lines are rough,
and sharp defined shapes blur in a limbo
made of innuendo and the small stuff
that, in shades of gray, fills up silent space,
shifting with the slightest movement of light
to redefine the angle of a face,
moving what was once unseen into sight.
Although the bright surface catches the eye,
reflecting color and initial form,
in the absence of light a thing is made;
in the dark essence, lurking there behind
those sunlit curves and corners of the norm,
the universe's palette is arrayed.