INTROSPECTION

Pity as it is,
there's a modern painting
in my mind, with a sun
as bright as love in a
young man's eyes.
That's up in a corner.
And down from that across
the page is a boomerang of blue,
. . . You knew?
But away, far into the middle,
is something. . . receding;
but I'm sure I would have
liked it if it had come
out.  You know, there's not
much else.  Just color
. . . and an eye, I think.
Yes, there must be an eye.
There always is.

			Lucille Hamilton