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Sipping Blue




sipping blue


even on our evening walk

a cloud

an enveloping waft

of misery and sadness.

It tastes of failure

and looks familiar.


What is it? she asks.


I cannot answer.

Numb, dumb, gone still.

A few more steps.


A blue patch, I say.


Yes, and blue is my

favorite color and this

ain’t it.


Look, she said, that silly dog.

He’s chasing that bird,

the one flying over.

He’s never going to catch it.


She takes my arm.

My love, I am that dog &

she knows it.



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