It’s you that makes me stop and think,
the full round red drama of you
stronger than a bushfire moon,
a setting sun, Monet’s apple,
and it’s in knowing that it’s fleeting
your little hexagons of light before
green and I’m gone, less likely to consider
the similes and metaphors of the ‘go’ globe
until orange as an orange I am
back to where I started thinking
bushfire moon, setting sun, Monet’s apple
the thin lines of tar that bandaid
the street run like red rivers
under your red light
and all ordinary struck by this moment’s
new hue
but it was when the moon
sat behind your red, orange, green
I caught my breath and
it seemed
there was nothing more perfect
nothing more lovely
nothing more pure and whole and right
than this white, red, orange, green,
moon and traffic light.