Untitled (On Blue, I)

The greatest fields
are that of the warmest color
on the coolest days,
where salt drips down your cheek
past the wound, onto the floor,
onto the grass of the unfamiliar city
to paint the streets with cornflower
and let the ocean tint the light with gold,
for those are the fields you dream of most,
the ones that enliven and do not disturb,
and make you feel at home
in a place you’ll never know