That unearthly dark blue, fade-out stars, its dependent crescent moon. That black, a side street cold despite another warm promise. That dark brown, phased in by unseen fires below Dandenongs. That clotting of grey cloud pink cloud, then zigzag flocks. That grey turning pale blue, placid as its Yarra reflections. That primrose tinge, extending to a line merging light particles. That blue, affirming anew the calendar: Morning, Thursday, March, Lent. That gold, all might all majesty, shadowing our familiar flesh. That red, tiny flames at the very edge of imagination. That green forgotten all night, pattern patterns of ancient resolution.