Sometimes it’s the signal
Of the places we don’t go
Sometimes it’s the magic
In what we’ll never know

It paints the sky like watercolors
See the clouds but not the rain
It’s the color of a person’s skin
When you can tell that they’re in pain

The mint chocolate ice cream
We had at the San Francisco bay
The brutality of patience
On each angry beautiful day

The times when innocence,
And justice, get confused
It’s the freedom and the dignity
And the ones who get accused

It’s certain grains of sand
Laying restlessly under the sun
It’s the color of peace and comfort
With the danger of a gun

The little things that help the most
Sewing machines or surgical tools
Patches on those jeans you wear
Every time you break the rules

It’s New York City snow
Or west coast seagulls up in flight
It’s the line we hang in limbo
In between the black and white

Like the remnants of a rainbow
But every color clashes
The rolling concrete sidewalk squares
The color of grandma’s ashes

It’s the dreary clouds of future
The secret phobia of doom
It’s the words remained unspoken
Literally the elephant in the room

It’s the usual, the ordinary
The local, the vernacular
It’s nothing to say too much about
But I think gray is spectacular