The blues ain’t

youth dry humping on sofas

digging

the earth’s herbs

plow can kicking steam.

It’s no color, but

knee ache

cold sky

needa, gotta dollar for beer?

Blue.

Let there be no deep pool tonight,

no black sky mirror;

no rushing spring

angry foam shoreline

or heated exchange, instead

recall that you saw me from that costly window,

my voice lost to your ear.