A bleeding of color.

Red
was the color of everything.
I stood on the edge
a clearing
and the wind blew red
through the leaves of red
falling from trees of red
growing ageless from an earth
the color
of red.

I stepped into the clearing
on red blades of grass
through red snagging shrubs
and brushed
red hair
from my eyes.

I turned
tipped my head
to a black sky
broken
in red clouds
and found
that even the moon
shone the most
breathless shade
of crimson red.

I looked upon
my body
to find
red nails
on red fingers
protruding
from deep red hands.

These were the hands
of my mother.
These were the hands
of my birth,
but
in the warm still air
of the warm still night
this night,
these hands
were stained and painted
for all to see:
red.