the blues in our lives are both the deepest and most transparent������I once got an F in art for trying to watercolor the three-dimensional blue of twilight�����for attempting a rainbow around the moon������I might die happy eating fried eggs on the porch under the bluest sky this spring � coffee tastes better watching the fiddleheads sprout������I put on a silk shirt because it caresses me as no other������there were crabs in the trap I stuck my finger into�����for the pinch, unpaid lifesavers in my pockets that I sucked and spit in the gutter������wings are shaken to the balcony������look, look into double mirrors for layers overthrown������the silver chains that lock necks and purple bougainvillea������I wait under trumpets of jewelweed and reggae������remember me chalk-painted on the road to your house������it�s four little minutes past midnight, another day������the blues in our lives are almost transparent