When hearts are blue, they look to the sky, which knows all about the
ness, of things.
When hearts are blue, they go sit in a corner of Skyland, and wait
for the changeable weather
systems which hearts
know all about, even if the charting is unknown,
even to the spoken.
When hearts are blue, they look to the waves, even if the waves
are seagulls' wings spread wide as atria in the sunshine. What do hearts know? Hearts are
mute feeling things. When hearts
when hearts are
look to empty octopi in ocean deeps, deep as pi itself, in green with eyes in pi wave
chemistry when hearts
keen to the blue side, still on the margins the world frames us in that winky mauve pink;
when hearts are blue we feed them shortbread cookies, because if life were long we could
abstain but being as life is as short as a cookie, we feed our hearts.
Brisk is crisp.
My stride is longer, my speed is faster.
I feed cookies to the blue hearts in the sky corners.
(Photo by Susan, 2013)