The water rises cold against my hips, the blue
peppered tub harbors the rose fluff petals that swell against
my feminine cuts; I am immersed in a free feeling tone of longing
I become dust and shadows,
white soil with no color or image
little moons and suns round and round; a celestial boomerang

'anger will quiet your soul, ' the words boomerang
nibbling away at my desire to be blue.
For all the right reasons the image
of me walking in the sunlight swells
as you hide in the shadows
turning my hardship into an impossible longing

what makes you dangerous feeds my longing
your poetic language is a boomerang
taking back the intimacy in the shadows
I sink deep into the sanctuary of the blue
cold enamel as past memories swell.
I stand on the shore in a morning gown open to the image

of the sun; weaving a rhapsody, an amber dust image.
the free feeling tone of the longing
is a special delight, bittersweet feelings swell
to small hissing rhythms which boomerang
into passionate undertakings of blazing blue.
I transform into an instrument of color as I approach the shadows

where you are still hiding. I walk into the shadows
clutching a large dark emptiness. Your image