Yes they are alive and can have those colours
but I in my soul am alive too
I feel I must sing and dance to tell of this in a way
that knowing you may be drawn to me
And I sing in the despair and isolation
of the chance to know you
To sing of me, which are you.
You see you hold me into the light in a way I never expected
or suspected perhaps
because you always tell me I am you, and right.
The great spruces loom I am yours to die with, to desire.
I cannot ever think of me, I desire you
for a room in which these chairs
ever have their backs turned to the light
inflicted on the stone and pads,
the real trees that seem to shine at me
toward you.
If the wild light of this January day is true
I pledge me to be truthful unto you
for I cannot ever stop remembering.
Remembering to forgive, remember to pass beyond you into the day
on the wings of the secret you will never know
taking me from myself in the path, which the pastel girth
of the day has assigned to me.
I prefer you in the plural. I want you, you must come to me
all golden and pale like dew in the air.
And then I start getting this feeling of exaltation.

John Ashbery 'A Blessing in Disguise'