Thanks for all of those, Chris. I especially love the Wilbur.
I've been struggling a little with that main character/bit player question. Here's Rachel Hadas's "The Golden Road," in which color seems to be incidental but still functions as the cord that ties the whole together.
On a September road I met my son
walking the other way. I had the hill
to climb; he was returning from a run.
xxxxxNo surprises; he
xxxxxknew I was nearby
as he knew I was. But precisely where
our paths might meet was a benign surprise.
The road was rutted, plastered with gold leaf.
Did our eyes, as we neared each other, meet?
More of a full-body recognition:
xxxxxthis tall young stranger
xxxxxstriding silently
around a bend, who paused on seeing me
(however I appeared) and then passed on.
Autumnal radiance thickened
by complications, memory, history--
nothing startling, in my mother's phrase.
xxxxxThe gold road curves.
xxxxxThe living pass the dead.
Old and young acknowledge one another;
then each takes their separate path ahead.
Oh Muse, peel off your dove-gray cardigan.
September, fallen leaves, and cool noon sun:
I rounded a gold curve and saw my son.
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