Indigo Bunting

I’m dumb to leaves and prairie grass;
a million colors can’t be named.
Wind conspires with shifting light
to humble language, exult sight.

I watched a bunting taking flight
from black to blue turn as I looked.
A list of shades between the hues
would burst the bindings of a book.

A spectrum spanned, a moment took,
a world encompassed in a blink
and all I ever hoped to know
vanished when I stopped to think.

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