Tip the gold, and the blue seems to open.
How long would you give to the solution?
While one man’s son dies of an embolism,
the fig opens its first leaf. You want it to work
out, that instant of falling, of catching, of colors
ordered by frequency or mneumonic.
You want the proof: you can reason.
The neighbor’s voice is louder as he grows deafer.
The ash tree must come down.
Beside your bed, the bright bands of color beckon.
Click the violet to one side, a chamber is revealed.
Brute force is worthless. Were you to take a hammer
to the challenge, shatter the whole, throw the board,
call it all a ridiculous waste of time, you’d be a baby beaten
by a toy, a baboon baffled by art. We are evolved,
you want to shout. Evolved. You want to shout it to
the termites undermining the bottom step,
to the scoundrel your daughter has taken up with.
The red link falls loose, there’s air
where there wasn’t before, there’s play.