Tell Me If It's Fuchsia

You tell me that I'm changed. Well,

perhaps I am.

It's hard to know when

you look through a window

that might have been washed—

you're not sure—around

ten years ago, a window that

might twist the world a little,

like a funhouse mirror.

So when you tell me I've changed

I have no way of knowing

exactly how or when this happened,

just like, from the inside, you can't tell

whether a house has been painted

traffic-cone orange or even

fuchsia.