Gabriella Garofalo writes

So much for blue-sky thinking: 
He smiles, she says thanks, then goes home to make blue necklaces - 
Seriously now, in a soap with a happy ending 
When the tins of fruit salad drop down  
The blue-eyed guy picks them up,  
Smiles, falls in love with her - 
Different words for troubled souls: 
Who cares if leaves fall down in February, November or July,  
It happens, full stop, you’d better lift scant stares and words -  
OK, she chose the right time,  
Quenched thirst, no need for sounds, sudden blue conquers: 
Well, she likes bossing around with colours and desires - 
Light and her valets? - 
And yes you breathe cold you breathe life into your winter, 
You touch his lips, yes, but what a darn nuisance 
Hands and primary colours,  
Get rid of them or you’ll end up as she did: 
Hot tears and scorching pain for a sunset, 
What for? Listen to me, just pick a down-to-earth sunset,  
Say, a miniature gift, if mothers and days blow their load  
In your winter, if cheap full-size sunsets  
Give birth to life’s roots - 
They’re blue, you know? - 
And winters and blue always keep staying the same.  

[from A Blue Soul,  Argotist Ebooks]  



Blue -- Ad Reinhardt