Imagine you have
never seen blue,
though in endless
soft, blue mornings
you have sat quietly
reading books about it,
and all the blue films
have left blue somewhere
in an elusive shadow
while stars dialogue
about blue on a cold,
silver‑blue screen
but never quite
define it.

Imagine hearing
all the blue songs
but never having
a blue of your very own.
Would this mean you
should stop believing
there really is a blue,
any more than, for instance,
you would question
blue cheese?

Imagine you have
never seen blue
but have looked for it
in every cold, blue evening
a wrinkled rainbow
rotting in your
hip pocket.

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