From nowhere.

Emeralds aren't right, nor is a simple leafy green

And he kept trying to find a better way to explain
the colour of her eyes. He pointed at the top I wore,
it is, he said, similar; but it lacks a quality of light.

I found myself offended, though I understood exactly
what he meant. They are, in the end, mossy ponds
with the sun shining through them, endless.

It has taken him this long to find a place this might be true,
but here he is now at a stagnant pond and pointing.
I am waiting for a revelation of glistening frog-skin

to snap him out of the obvious: can hear instead
only the false shutter-clicks of a digital camera
in the throes of duty and whirring.