What is the blue of damage?
Sand poured into an open ear,
ships disappearing over
the curve of the earth. Your plane
has landed, your train has arrived, you are
asleep somewhere on a strange pillow.
The heart turns slower than the moon, but
it does turn, waxing and waning, pulling
on tides. The exit sign flashes
like a painting of paradise
under a gauzy curtain. I pull it aside,
and all the colors come back to me
like someone returning from
far away, like someone returning.