In becoming translucent
we pass light through us

As a window screen strains a breeze
into slender columns of air.

Likewise, we parse light into colors,
otherwise unseen. They re-assemble

On the other side of us, in pairs
or triplets, but never altogether,

Or they’d default to white,
same as they went in, a wasted trip.

If light’s not changed
in transit, what’s the point?