The colour of towels
hang in my house
down, like waterfall
from door-corners and window sills.

Some outside
some on wracks
All open mouthed
spread welcome.

I have paintings also. They are static.
The towels move around.
They’re the colours of angels
blessing a clothesline
or bedroom floor.

If I’m wet they dry me
if they’re wet I dry them
It’s a good arrangement.

They smile at me, and often
break into laughter
when I attempt folding
they think it’s a hoot
trying to fold away colour