It's About This or That

It's about the roses
rearing to bloom.
So steadfast in green.
It's about a blue
overcoat — the colour
seems unimportant —
swept along on a rush
of carrion leaves.
It's never about red
sunsets, grilled herrings,
crystal glasses. Never
about that distance near.
And the wall scribe writes:
"Vin luvs Eza" in yellow.
We know this is not true.
Because the precise measure
of a footfall (to be exact:
one leads to another and not
the other way around) is a little,
not more. Never about
this need or that.