Blue
Bequeathed to fingers, make joy, beauty
The colour of an outstretched hand in winter
Or of a vein pulsating in an arm
Maybe the bit of tubing tied right above it
The colour of his eyes
And the others, like mismatched twins, so different
But with the same mischievous grin
The colour of the haze
Or the tight rubber pants
The ocean in its depths
Cried out by many, missing one
Like that denim skirt that
Was a little too short
And she knew it
And so did she, and liked it, they both did
The stripes between innocence on his
Woven strip of pain, wisdom
The blush of the sun against the lens
And the frost upon the tombstone
All blue
But not all sorrow