In this red/blue state ~

 

In the very early morning, blue mist

bleeds from the Blue Ridge mountains

on the horizon. It rolls down the slopes

puddles in the valleys, thick & furred.

Even the evergreens are blued w/fog

softened in outline. This is home now.

 

In Oklahoma, where the dirt is ironrust red,

the wind blows as red as the politics.

Here, even when the Stars & Bars stake

their claim to race & religion, old manners

breathe blue mist. Rain falls in silvery threads

and light is suffused with blue shadows.

 

Perhaps my battered hopes will heal, cradled

in air the colour of memory. And red light

will thin to rose, while blue sky deepens. Perhaps.

And maybe, in this misty high place, I will learn

to listen, hearing through red anger the quiet

melody of blues.