Picasso Bunyan

A poet friend goes to the
piney north woods only after
stopping by the local
hardware store where he
picks up paint-chip cards.

Holding them up to
whatever thing of nature
he is writing about,he then
aspires to be Crayola literate
in his effortless verse.

Lying in those very same
north woods, gazing at a glassy
sky full of stars framed by
towering jack pines and aspens,
matted with moonlight, I need no
cardboard strips,knowing full well
‘damn fabulous, spectacular blue’
when I see it.

A shade, by the way,
Hardware Hank doesn’t even carry.