the blue

They say it is cool; because they say color has a temperature.

But what do I know? I am not a painter. I am not moved by the palette or the brush. The picture, I am stirred by that; though I could not say

if the stroke was made hot or cold where color is concerned.

The way the colors mix when they pair, when they sit side by side

or crossing lines, blushing together-

the anguished red against the screaming yellow

the pitying brown like rotting leaves in clear streams

that's the sound, there, water against rock.

I can tell you about the blue with words and maybe texture,

the feel of it, like that water against hot skin,

against cool skin, though

warm, greeting like a friend,

like to like

blue like the sky, the air, the wind

reaching into and beyond.

It is hopeful somehow. You know that feeling.

Remember?