Surrender

There is, we now know,

a conspiracy of yellow.

Everywhere and under-

the-radar, yellow

like dying, in the number

9 and on Fridays, yellow.

In a joke, a yodel-signal,

breath this May morning,

an orange, the umbrella

yellow, umbrage,

embarrassment, an ember

—let it intensify,

yellow. Though

it means us harm,

she’s a warm harm,

everything yellow,

coincidental whispering,

the missed call

from up north,

a Post-it , that sundress

at the shipyard, and if

yellow is not

what should

overmaster us

what could possibly

in this bright world be.