Seeking Yellow

When I look at the charred plasma of a bare knuckled wind I forget the ardor of yellow. Then I recall the smeared tones of skunk cabbage rising through haze and mizzle, or how in the Far East the river at sunset transforms a blistered heat into the stippled gold of temple lamps. After the grey scuttle of urban hours there’s a yellowed drizzle of twilight in any city when a chill brume of evaporation hangs gleaming and electric. I see the mottled leaf of autumn how gold seeps through its flamboyant carnage. Far away from the ruby panic of fledgling mouths or the crimsoned wounds of orchids, I seek a tint, a gloaming yellow essence, a sun-flowering at the of day.