L'aura del Campo

Blue dye of dying (the poem)

Blue dye of dying

Blue, blue, the sea's blue depths,
the blue of blue sky falling,
cloth glints azure, as your blue hands grasp,
then flutter after the dyeing.

Now they dip fine silk to fix my shroud
blue from the indigo dyeing,
then mix in the mordant of my piss
and bring it all to a boiling.

Blue, blue, the sea's blue depth
blue as your clear eyes smiling,
blue, blue as blue sky's breadth,
blue as the blues of dying.

© Kåre Enga [164.83] 07-05

IMAGES:

Ants scurrying, stopping, scurrying; closing my eyes = vermilion beads against a khaki background; grey sky and a soft breeze; my inner shaking from the day; strut of a robin focused on the clay before it.

A no-guns sign; green odor of crushed yew (you nowhere to be found); the yellow elixir of juniper rubbed between the fingers.

Nest of sticks high in an elm; doves in a line on the wire; honeysuckle, mulberry bush and rose thorns among the evergreen hedge; a constant chatter of black birds; stench of a white flowered shrub; 5 green fingers of Virginia creeper.

NOONDAY THOUGHTS:

As a child in a northern clime I used to like sitting on the lawn. Here the grass has found its own defense against my crush: chiggers.

I would take you to my garden, but it exists only in the memories of those who visited it. For me those thoughts are fraught with the landmines of great loss.

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