Re-Blue

It bubbles from beneath,

a love story, a nightmare, a crack in the light,

the blueberry patch on my body I circled over like violets

disappeared a long time ago

but I’m still bent and blue, this blue,

still can’t tell if it’s twilight or trench, and whichever it is,

what’s the flight plan?

not for now,

for next time. I’m still recovering from the last long night.

Under the covers, a lighthouse of impending doom scrolls

and murder mysteries and silent shuffling disasters,

the last time we saw a sun together, how dead I was then,

how alive I could be in the blue, this blue,

just minutes away from waking.

I watch a tiny wave crest over frosted by moonlight,

like a slow-blinking Venetian blind opening

to the first echo of a Pandorian box we didn’t shut in time, to our

frail and utter delight,

signs of an unreachable divine spilling into this dimension.

We grasp for real straws not the kind that gets mulchy when wet

and you and I lie tangled in a web

of figs not yet sweet not yet ripe, maybe dead before done,

threw ourselves into two blue infinites like satellites circling but never touching,

so different yet both the same shade of alone,

everything smaller and further, every feeling somehow bigger, more blue,

stealth electric blue,

a single firefly spreads its light gossamer thin

to ease the disassembling stars,

morning blooms like my violet bruises,

and like teenagers we sneak through gently into the dying night

on the edge once again.

This poem is written as part of my annual Colour of the Year Project. Re-blue was my selected colour for 2023, and you can find the accompanying slide deck here.