Blue
When you were a bird you
wanted anything but
blue. The woods were broken
apostate into grown
and other and between
the trees promises flew
like too many cousins
who had no time to stay
beyond each flickered now.
When you were a stone you
shimmered with dull and gave
nothing away, all of
it, until nothing was
precious enough to leave
on its own. When you were
a seed you broke one day
into someone’s green hands,
and watched while finger by
finger long feathers grew
into raptures of wild
and seductions of blue.