Dust
painted the wall
red
and it bled
coat after coat
the color high
the color low
would not blend
would not roll
they say red is hard
to get just right
it varies in the light
from a garden rose
to an orchard row
a dance between
a dance below
it takes a step
then takes a turn
before it smokes
and ember burns
“ashes to ashes”
are the masses
who painted high
and painted low
for that perfect pitch
and ever-glow
of stain on glass
no body knows
“then sings my soul”
TL