the sky holds every blue
and nothing will ever be the same again,
as it once was
we swim in a lake that seems
than the roots of an old grandfather tree that you told me about,
one sunday; as the june wind slept.
the longest day
has passed us by
and night's black
became dawn's blue
on a night when the rain fell
-as heavy as the world in all its sadness;
-as beautiful as the blues we haven't named yet.