Blue is the last to go, when the waltzing pinks and whites and golds are cold and grey with shadows, and mist rising, dew dropping, drained of day-life, still as the ocean bottom.
I watch for pike where magpies waddled.
Above a wash of water-blue, blue light, the set sun, lingering by proxy, pricked and pierced by the jagged light of stars, reefs in the deeps where satellites float in their lonely glitter, pretending to be meteorites or asteroids,
Rolling blue waves
Water running though fields
Blue as forget-me-nots
The way you stared
Into your coffee cup
Bright as a skyfull of swallows
In a sticky ring
So long ago you left.