Frame

The gold of it rises from pure sunrise
Of the balcony’s shadows yet to form,

Birds forming to wake sleeping home.
When they do they are vague vain v’s

Painted in a gold of dawn’s new sky.
Just juxtapose yellow leaf with paper,

The paper of a pink flower trembling
In deep awe before a passing breeze.

You have this pink plus yellow frame
Without its native hues of resolution.

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