The Absence Of Black Poem by Michael Philips

I see her back, her legs, and her shiny black shoes
The way I saw them
For the last time
Over and over
And there is no color in the movement
Or in the air or in the tightening
Of my gut,
Only the absence of color

Like a baffled moth drawn to darkness,
My void was a movie of people shouting
With the volume turned off,
I heard one silent verse in particular
The Stones singing, I see a red door
And I want it painted black

A warm voice told me I could emerge,
And to see the birth of every second.
This seemed impossible.
Impossible.
Yet as my breathing resumed
I remembered something from school,
That the combination of all colors is white
And I see her black shoes for what they are
And I hear her footsteps fade