her blues

the mystic, sketching her aura,
asked, did you know you’re blue?
yes, she said, I know

she surrounds herself
in this eternal primary,
and the contractor will complain
that blues are too difficult
to mix and paint

it’s true because
your blues and hers,
they don’t match

if her soul has a color, it’s obvious
something about eyes and windows
but she can’t remember
bleeding through days of not remembering

it means more to her
the blue of a sky that never disappoints
the promise of clarity
a never-ending
now

she pretends that her blues matter,
but when the sun sets
and blue fades to black
she knows,
they don’t

in certain light
on certain days
her eyes are green, anyway