Crate of Clementines

My head is a crate of clementines

One tumbles in, another out

I think my color is shifting to magenta

Or burgundy or brown.

I read my old writing and I remember

Cycles of yellow, grey, red.

Yellow, grey, red.

A woman gave me her glasses

I stared at the sun

We stood on the beach.

Watched the moon take its place

Maybe my colors will stabilize 

Maybe my crate will grow

Or the clementines will lessen

Whenever I’m yellow

I think it’s forever

Inevitable, the grey knocks again.