Hans Hoffman’s Autumn Gold


Let me dream of lime green
evolving from tree greens,
then frame it in phoenix red
whipped fiery thick:
a dream conscious
of the dreamer’s craft
so vision becomes an everyday affair.

Tomorrow I’m in a slashing violet mood,
brood in purple lather,
shoot in burnt sienna arrows,
channeling the rude time
humped in my back, yet
green wings if you squint
flutter above this canvas.