Into the blue...
by Katy Brown, Davis, CA
Even the most broken life can be restored
to its moments--from Blue Hour by Carolyn Forche
A blue heron rises from its shattered reflection
into the indigo hours before matins,
scattering runes for redemption over water so profound
no sunlight can pierce the gloom,
dark as stewed woad or mollusk shells,
lapis ground into ultramarine,
like scattered sapphires or turquoise beads.
You might think all hope is lost -- But wait.
the great blue shark that the Maori name Mako
carves the fractured runes along a reef.
Meaning is never lost: the most broken life measures in moments.
Lamentation in flattened thirds and sevenths.
The blue whale takes up an undulating song,
calling into the diminishing future, sending longing
into every note like a prayer hummed into the void.
We dive.
All of us
Our prospects vague as a trail of bubbles along the deep song
from beyond the range of light or contact.
We are all plunging into the blue.
Diving through air or water or visions
in the lexicon of yearning,
through the first azure shades before dawn
of light just below the surface.
Everyone.
Broken as a trail of bubbles rising from the deep.
How we cultivate the pieces is a measure of our forgiveness.
Into the gathering dark, spiraling toward the depths
through a fan of ascending air, we follow the low rumble
of leviathan.
We are all broken
and only the intense pressure at the edge of life
will seal us back together.
Something vast is calling.
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