Until the morning’s dazzle,

she never knew the night

had stripped her eyes

of the ability to perceive colour,

.

and her blindness did not

offend. She groped and

cursed and stumbled

but assumed that all

.

of life was grey, tinted

with shadowy brush.

She didn’t even know

she was purple; to see

.

herself in sunshine

is a delicious shock.

She inhales the

rainbow feast of it

.

all and her dreams

are Technicolor,

Northern Lights

dancing to an internal

.

spectrum, ribbons curled

in amethyst flourish. She

thinks this colour-coded

freedom might be – joy.

.