mildred lived in an abyss of
fury driven to inhabit the cold
soul of an infidel who could
only surround her in black.

her last blue thought was the
aqua of a god, a bullseye of
love aimed at indifference.
i could only wish to be the
bravery she was known to
exude in mere acts of being
kind against death, and all
the cousins of death. if i have
any faith, it is soaked in these
eyes that saw what was too
tremendous to be merely
accident. if it comes through
me it is because i can remember
blue, the calm of the blue,
and how kindred i am to the
holiness of it.