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Shuffling through the color
swatches
at the local hardware store,
the department paint mixer
needs to know just what shade blue
for my bedroom walls.
I examine the range:
from midnight to pale ocean,
none just fits,
so I tell him, pointing to the
skylight above the aisles:
if you look outside, I tell him,
tonight there is a sliver of a moon
slung low, not far above the tree line,
nestled in blue,
lighter nearer the horizon,
tell-taleing just where the sun
tooks its leave for the day.
I need a blue like that
in which to press my back and shoulders
relaxed and hang, suspended, half-curved,
luminous with the reflection
of a gone sun.
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