The Things I Know About The Colour Blue

last lingering crayon in the drawer
condensing the skies
how you have flown by in my time

like the sapphire wing of a bird
and still can sing to me
of then.

let the grass be blue-green
under a plum-white moon;
the dews blues as well

and she would sing the blue

into flowers and this
we called dusk or twilight,
Grandmother said.

I said,
may it be the twilight of tears

for things that don't come back
as year follows year
but I'll hold onto it still

as onto a favorite dress with gauzy sleeves
mysteriously, as if you were music.

you seem to colour it all in:
that feeliing when everything
slips away, again and

bearing down on the paper
a little harder each day
before the cold sets in

then we cloud whisper,

"stay"

mary angela douglas 19 march 2016