color.

now she may not be convinced that

you sense or observe the world

with the same spectrum of longing

though she willingly would

have taught you to breathe in aqua

and weave cerulean blue to the

rhythm of the salt lamp and vinyl

stroking the brilliantly acute contrast of

your skin deeper than marrow

she may have even come

undone and drifted a scarlet

bird over rippling water the

leaves fluttering close to autumn

though she was not persuaded that

you understood her language or

could grasp burning alchemy with

your soul tangled in the mires

of acceptable mediocrity

now she may know stories that you

never hear and see the complex

unraveling tied to choices that

have not yet come to be

though it will never truly matter if

the strands of her hair slipped softly

though your fingers and

the forgotten cerise mandala

never made its way into your pocket

© 10.27.2016 heather brager