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Sport 28: Autumn 2002

Bleu de Paris

page 3

Bleu de Paris

After two weeks, you cannot find a scar
To dye the heavens with purple, only
A remembered colour, or a scent
Associated with new mown hay.

Everywhere the eye is struck
With a little creeping pain,
Bright red needles
In the composition of the air.

We forget that we enjoyed
The more subdued and pensive
Harmonies, our common vision
Of God, on a day of many blooms,

Most of them mauve,
When the imprisoned spirits of the rain
Bow had a sweet taste
For her human eye,

Preparing the fastest blue
And fastening against water and light
Her tar-distilled crimson,
Her coal-derived blues.