A collage of numbers, a notebook,

apples and strawberries.

I was hypnotized once to notice.

Never an ordinary red, it is

the cherry of lips just bitten for color,

the crimson of pomegranate

seeds, the sanguineous ruby

of a nightgown, the bloody plum

of a heart splayed, open

and still beating—

of azaleas, noticed in moments,

their petals curving inward, bending then

standing, surrounded by envy—

of foxes, born under the barn door,

the kits pouncing on chipmunks,

watching the strawberries redden—

of female beetles, gathered in webs,

immersed and crushed for their pigment

to dye juice, shampoo, candy, lipstick

—of Shiraz on a Friday afternoon.