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1 " Flash after flash across the horizon:Tourists trying to take the Grand CanyonBy night. They don’t knowEvery last shot will turn out black.It takes Rothko sixty years to arrive At the rim of his canyon.He goes there only after dark.As he stands at the railing, his pupils open Like a camera shutter at the slowest speed.He has to be patient. He has to leanFar over the railingTo see the color as of darkness: Purple, numb brown, mud-red, mauve-an abyss of bruises.At first, you’d think it was black on blackSomething you son’t want to look at, he saysAs he waits, The colors vibrate in the chasmLike voices: You there with the eyes, Bring back something from The brink of nothing to make us see. "
― Chana Bloch
