I said I’d blend colours, render a wave
of curving bright green, speckles of red
(touches of inevitable black in the gouache)
inscribed within
“May this year be green,
may it roll through you
a meadow, a surf
raised by the breeze of your days.”
Something like that.
But other winds pushed that wave into space.
When I showed you my list of priorities,
the wave—inadvertently—was gone.
“Weren’t you going to make me one of your undulations
for my birthday?”
you asked.
Annoyed with myself, I threw the list down.
Now the day is past. “Don’t fret,” you said.
“Your birthday’s coming up: leave it to me,
I’ll make you the warm glow.”
The wave glistens. Distant mirage.
The paints are in the cupboard.
Still no time. I never did paint that wave.
But I can write you this: a lost satellite
wheels in my head, a shimmer, I made it
especially for you:
this green satellite shimmer report.
– first published in The Saranac Review
Brian Campbell 