At first glance, you’ll see blue.
You might see white, even dabs and drabs
of grey – gray like an old woman sagging
raging up a storm, and thundering moods.
And yet, every time, she’ll never fail to ensconce
you, take you away from your feet into a rapture
present you with a story of endless chapters
telling you nothing of raining frogs, illness…
it isn’t, in fact, her magic at work to bewitch –
rather it is that you know, without knowing that you do
how deep she is, of character, of perspicuous beauty
that instills in you a deeper kind of affinity
towards her promise of forever, of deep sealed
innociduous stars exploding of passion (in the darkness of nothing,
she is so alone there, out there, away from here).
She’s always been there to watch over you,
you’ve always known how alone she is
(as did your predecessors, they too in love
with her… she is an appeal to our nature).
Ponder it, her solitude, provide her a husband
these thoughts you think, slowly looking away
slowly forgetting her way, going on about your day.
then, yet again, you offer another glance,
and again, you see a bit of blue, only darker
only brooding, sometimes an off green,
so clear when near yet afar so shrouded.
And yet, every time he’ll never fail to ensconce
you; no the sea will never fail
with his horizon of promises.