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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