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Irresistible, on this atmospheric planet, where

there's a blue to carry the heart home and a blue

for virgins and a blue to call

the spider from the drain.

Nobody argues with its

shameless imitation of love, diving

simultaneously into the eye and out of sight: sea,

sky, the absence of convulsions and flags,

our own errata winking at us out of depths or heights.

Knowing that one day we will fall to black

or fade to grey, and blue

has been both places and includes them

as a saxophone includes its drastic

possibilities. It's with us.

We've been gone before.

Meditation on Blue

Don McKay

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