Morning at the Merritt Bakery

November 22, 2006

It’s a grey day in Oakland and
The grey hangs precipitously around the lake.
The air is so grey it’s blue-
Stuck in that crepuscular moment just before the
Sun stands up straight at dawn or stoops, retiring, at dusk.
Blue like a single drop of dye diffuse in a goldfish bowl silver hair tint Blue Blue like the color of a draft in a cold room Blue if sighs had hue the emanating Blue that persists from the lake through layers of ice the Blue of breath minted in advance of a kiss Blue as chilled finger tips grazing ribs, Blue of wind billowing in sails, Blue as noon in a windowless room

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One Response to “Morning at the Merritt Bakery”

  1. likes it said

    So glad you are back, and loving this poem.
    Thank you!

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