by Kelly Cherry
So commonly we see a single violet
Curated in a simple vase—clay pot
Or shallow dish, the dish perhaps a piece
Of Blue Willow-ware, a practically antique pattern
By now. The violet is shy and makes no claim
On the black, moistened earth from which it springs:
A modest flower with modest expectations.
Its tint is carefully calibrated between
Red and blue, not quite purple—almost one would say
A color that doesn’t exist in the real world
Except here it is, indisputably real.
What shall we make of this? That the real world
Grows more mysterious even as we look at it?
That the more we look at the world, the more we see?
Do the violet in the Blue Willow bowl and we who view it
Exist in a conspiracy of perception?