You worry me.

Your eyes dilate
as though an extra sorrow
enters them.

What is their colour?

You have told me
but the quirks of memory
forewarn the image
of my search
until a resurrection
seems impossible.

Perhaps I’m colour-blind.

Today I caught a conker
falling from a chestnut tree.
It dovetailed to my hand
and lay quite still –
a little stained but perfectly intact.

The surface shone translucently:
a brilliant, brown-red gloss.

Perhaps you’ll disbelieve me
but I thought : this colour’s like Anne’s eyes.

A little later wings of blue
persuaded me to change my mind
and then a blade of grass began a long interrogation.

Shyly and involuntarily your eyes appear
like music fading to a silent close.

from "Poems People Liked (2)"