It’s green I tell you. Green. Like emeralds. That green.
So green that you can’t see it. It’s a white-out. Blacked out.
It’s an empty store front. It’s all shadow and dead eyes.
Shaking hands on a hot pot. Will spill all over you and erase everything.
I tell you that it will. You are a chalk drawing. It is that green.
So green that everything else vanishes. So green that there is no meaning in it.
There is nothing but the hollow street and the sky in comparison.
The lake still and reflecting. Clouds rushing and a sky going purple then grey.
The moon is out and that is making everything darker.
Your tongue is dry from it. The night is hot. The alcohol tastes like sand.
Everything lessened. Drained. Behind panes of glass in a museum.
And those tiny lights in the gallery are making it all look its best.
But it will never be enough. Ever. I tell you this. You don’t believe me.
That is how green it is. So green that it changes everything that ever happened.