Once we could not see
the blue of ice that bent to lap the maple,
the blue of indigo soaked in reams that stained her hands, his hips,
the blue of jays swallowing stolen eggs, brown or rose or white.
Before the azurite and lapis,
before the woad and cobalt,
our oceans were wine-dark,
our honeys green,
our eyes innocent and ignorant.
Before the name, there was nothing and all.
Before the boundary,
before the blue.
Once we were merely humans,
and this was infinite sky.
Editor’s Note: This poem uses color to explore the naming of a thing, and how humans get caught up in categorizing instead of celebrating that which inspires the soul.