Blue
The blue I see isn't the blue you realize.
Perhaps it's the blue of the salted sea at
sunrise,
or the blue of a cold glass of water at 3 am
Maybe it's the blue outside your window
Or of the sky on a quiet spring afternoon.
Possibly it's in the sea when I go deep to
touch its ground
No—perhaps it's the blue that lingers
when you look away from the sun.
Even the feeling of sinking my hand into
rice
feels like your kind of blue.
I searched for you in my blue jeans,
but found nothing.
Perhaps I was looking too desperately.
You weren't in the blue-tinted windows of
my home.
But somehow, you were there
when I lay upon the dirt in early winter.
Maybe colorblindness is my only salvation
because the only color I have ever truly
seen
is blue.
