The gray-green sea,
And the gray-blue clouds,
And the gray-clear air in between,
Damp with the fears and weak dreams
Of ill-defined men straining for tint
And a hint at the colorless days,
Unless black is a hue and the shapes
Are not lost on the pulverized slopes
Of what once was thought solid and true.
Where's the red?
Where's the yellow with blue?
