An Epiphany
arrived in the mail today
a gouache
something poisonous
Vermilion
it couldn't be
An extension
of a poet
like orange paint
in the hands
of a mailman
traveling to
the year 1994
and then
to my mailbox
without a single
fingerprint
a poetic translation
of atomic numbers
is a splotch
of Indian Yellow
perhaps
a dot of Cobalt
— Nicole Santalucia