Into the Blue…

Into the blue

I work and
rework your eyes
until the lines
into water washed
scraps of color
resembling –
not so much your soul –
but a whole
life that had bled
from one red island
to beyond blue
and you still look
out of the canvas
into a past that
died on a road
in the fall with all
of the possible
futures now wasted.
My pallet is small
and all the plans
that I’ve sketched
lay in piles on a desk
that holds the work
we planned when you left.
So as my paint pots dry
I rework your eyes and
try to remember the last
time you sat for me
on the step underneath the tree
and how we spoke
of losing things and
moving on into the blue.

May 28, 2006

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