Suspended, February 8, 2007
It was blue today
when I left the grocery store.
My blue car was blueberry.
Green cars were teal.
Red cars were purple.
Everything white was a
watery milk-blue.
I stood in a painting.
A layer of steel slicked the street.
The underside of each leaf
on every tree was a shade of blue.
Even tree trunks were tinged with it.
A stormy sky hid the day's orb
behind billowing slate.
And the Air
was so thick with blue
I was sure I could pillow myself in it,
sleep a dreamless, blue sleep.
On the backs of my hands spidered
more blue veins than ever before.
I looked over at a lady walking
to her car. She was searching
for the keys in her bag.
She was blue.
So was her bag.
I knew it wouldn't last, this color,
so I wanted to say, "Excuse me,
have you noticed it's blue right now?"
But I didn't.
Oh my darlings, in those few,
awed moments, like twilight
before terrible exactness
pricks through the night sky,
all longing, all sadness,
every single thing that is
breaking my heart,
dissolved in blue.
