The Thief

Blue tears run down her face,
a blue stolen from a sunny sky.

Her hair is black, the blackness
stripped from the middle of a night.

It forms a frame around her white face,
white fleeced from lofty clouds.

Her eyes, her green eyes,
a green only emeralds can surrender.

The tears ripple over glossy red lips,
their shiny redness from the blood of sheep.

Form alone has no color.
All is plunder, nothing hers.