Outside My Window Xiv Poem by Frank Avon

All is dark
except the lingering
of the automatic light
and the reflection in the window
of my computer screen:

all the greens
of limbs and leaves
and all the blossoms' colors
are merely silhouettes
in my line of vision.

It's what I do not see
that means so much to me,
what's flourished spring and summer,
will sustain me all through autumn,
and remain in my memory the long winter.

I can't begin to name them all
or enumerate the colors.
I simply represent them all
with ones I see now (the closest)
marigolds, Joseph's Coat, the cosmos

and the full moon
past its blood-red eclipse
shrouded by the clouds
white all the night
reigning over what's not seen.