Splash by Eve West

cover photo by the author

2002, 28 pages



More Sublime Need


Color is reflection of light not absorbed.  Lime

is everything but, and tangerine’s orange rind

is the estrangement of that very shade.  Lately,

I wonder at the things not said.  The weight we

choose to carry on, when there is no clear sign


and emotion bounces back off topic.  I’m

not sure where the light goes then.  In line?

In scattered fragments?  Pieces of the prism beam?

Color is reflection.


If I can’t adjust my angle of perception in time,

I may miss your meaning, or at least the more sublime

need you express between words.  A theme

of longing for something I will never absorb seems

to be in question.  How to hold and define

the pigment of love when color is reflection?



Wild Perfume


Ripples form the flesh of wood.

Petals form the rose’s wings.

Rivers form so many things.


Kisses tease the softest guilt.

Shadows test the truest noon.

Beaches wait to swallow the moon.


Ripples of wood.

Petals of wings.

Rivers hurry so many things.


To barren silt,

To wilt too soon,


This wood, this wing,

This wild perfume.