The ocean, blue,
a flowing sky.
The sky, blue,
an ocean inverted.
Until the evening ebbs into twilight:
the tide nudges, teases
the sky cradling the shy young moon
in its endless arms,
as of a lover
that knows no earthly bounds.
“Look, sweetheart,” she said,
as a zephyr’s tender sweep
lowered my eyelids
like a downy blindfold before revelation.
“See how my pendant drinks
the ocean’s aqua blue.”
Never before
were our hearts so sweet,
our emotions so high.
I watched
the horizon’s slender knife
slice the blue
into aqua and sky.
A new language of colour, for me.
For us, a new colour of language.
A beautiful tragic realisation:
many words existed
only in the reflection
of our togetherness.
Our language –
same, while apart;
and different, together.
Like aqua, born of blue,
and sky, born of blue,
we, together, are apart,
yet, a part, of the same world.
“If,” my love whispers,
“the sky could pour itself
into the sea,
if the sea could rise
to become the sky –
If the world’s language
grew as meaningful
as our shared silence,
as gentle as the words between us,
fewer words would say more.
The quiet would speak,
and we’d sit, peaceful,
together or apart,
wondering:
How beautiful the world would be
with an aqua blue sky.”

Cover image by Tiago Muraro on Unsplash