The lights change when they intersect, a product of prism.
There is no way to mark the shift, only that a shift takes place:
between red and orange, a boundary; between orange and yellow, another.
I wrap my fingers around the cool edges
of difference, a token of my appreciation.
Dispelling is disarming, disintegration. When I insert myself,
I've already changed, particles to waves, binary boxes checked.
Colors bleed into shapes, the origin traced; I am the space between.
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