Could it be blue
the answer to the question this time
or a blow crushing the head
the tearing of hair
like rags of mist rising from the lake?
We tongue words
who when what
but life is no less purple-red
the sky still glows brazen bold and
you you you
beneath it still gaze at your feet
making shadows that scream at the light.
I I I
peer through distant rain to the sea where blue blows
longing to soar on sail-wings over diamond-spray
and curling wave water.
toss you a rose
urging asking willing
you to raise your face to the sun
to smell the wind full of salt and flowers.
Take my hand and we will go there
into the blue