The Last Line

The Unnamed Shade of Blue

 

The biochemistry of Magic: I know the color

Of the jacaranda bloom / I know the Bloom.

Bluebirds tumble in the air, a battle to pass on

That shade that belongs only to them, alone.

Small differences on the lips make blue bloom.

Still, so much pollen and petal, song and feather

Seems an overwhelming demand to my ever-

Waning imagination. Or are they an invitation?

 

 

The Too Literal Realist

 

The gold finch is dangling from the verdi gris

Branch, and there is a smell of Summer in Spring.

Ask what I desire. I answer: More stars by day,

More stories! That is where the Larger Bear

Would be if it were dark / That is where it is.

This is my Mythology: Ask, What time is it?

It’s in the syntax. All language is literal;

The far cry from meaning is what we imagine.