As late daylight moves through a few stained
windowpanes, these walls take on an appearance

of murals, though printed mostly in paler shades
of primary paint. My son slowly guides one hand

along the tinted images, dipping his fingers
into that palette of illuminations now brightening

the white space before him—as if he is trying
to test its temperature or in an attempt to enter

a bit into its vivid vision. His wide smile
disguises apprehension when he leans to touch

the green serpent twisting like some vine
winding around a brown branch toward its ruby

fruit. By the time he reaches out at the scene—
hoping to hold the apple, his whole arm tattooed

with a window’s brilliant glaze—he’s sure
somewhere the world offers more colorful options.