Greys, silvers soft and tinged with gold
and washed out pinks bleed from my heart
as I sit on the dock and look out on the lake
in longing, in lingering longing.
I wash across the sky so blue,
soft blue, robin’s egg unbreakable
and endless in blue, endless in echo
of my longing soul, lingering.
yeah, that’s me,
and always has been.
on the edges sitting,
living inside my longing
bleeding, rising, blossoming.I cannot fly like birds
so instead I send me up up
tinging, coloring, rising
grey and silver and pink
against blue, and over blue too.
The edge of sky and land,
the edge of land and water,
the edge of water and sky,
it is at this nexus that I sit…I.
Without wings, without boats.
But I have my inner cello,
strings taut and tuned just so,
I have my song of greys and pinks
sprung from my silver bow.
So I will sit, here in this meeting
of sky and lake, land and song,
and play my tune across bright waters
that glow and glisten under skies
of blue tinged silver, shot with grey
and gleaming pink into the glowing night.