Blue Aspect #2

She had an
Empty guitar case filled
With fragments
Plucking sounds from lost birds
Rooted honey stalks
That conformed to everything
Yet fit into nothing except
Old stained jars

And she was black
As black can be,
Night falling on her
Bones and shoulders
Downward as the day’s
Flower came into focus

And she played
Her blue song on a
Yellow electric guitar
On Market and Powell
As the day shadows passed
Into night, young into old,
Peace into war

And her blue
Song covered the
Bone parades walking
In every direction

And her strum
Became a hum
That was imperceptible
To the sum
Of some

Yet it
Was there

And still
Is

In the wings
Of lost
Birds

© Tony Robles 2016

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