Views of a Dove

Fingers trace dyed hair, stain her silk glove blue,

Gripping the heart, his blood turned by love blue,

Backseat sway to folk music, ‘round the bends,

Elbows bruise sides, like rolling waves shove, blue.

Seeds tossed through laughing bars at flinching fowl,

the stones and nets choke a friendless dove blue,

Their hazed eyes search for a bottle drip and

through glass-cut skin seep all the shades of blue.

You cannot breathe deep underwater,

So, your head floats, a moon buoy above blue.