I asked the gentle chameleon that accommodates

The color of his life to loving's red,

Pride's blue, the loaded yellow of wealth,

Green for those who feel green, brown for dead,

If in his own sight he was no one, stained

With whoever he came to, mimic of any voice.

I turn me down to children, up to priests,

Sideways to taxi-drivers, slant my poise

So to lean sour, avuncular, or lewd.

A nine-faced liar puts everyone at ease.

I asked again. The lizard on my lapel,

Unchanged, seemed not one of my devotees.

And was not. He knew two of' a kind had met.

One another's words were equable to translate.

Curiosity," he said, "the spacious heart;

An unhurt citizenry of the single state;

A touch of the artist to the design," he said,

The quirky selves we kill if we suppress,

And as for colors, I haven't tried them all,

If you know what I mean," and I said, "Yes."