What is indigo?
The darkness, slowly giving way
to pre-dawn pallor,
still holding on
to its dream of blue sleep.
The clock ticking
on the nightstand
and the taste of wisteria;
the Pacific, out beyond
the horizon
and the velvet case
of the new moon,
like a small memory
wrapped in twilight.
A wisp of blue smoke,
velvet berries
under their bitter fur
of frost,
wolves cradled in
amethyst snow.
In the smoky citrus
the year makes a fist.
When watercolor roads
swim out of focus,
seasons fly in
through the windows.
© copyright 2003 Anne Wilson. No part of this website, pages 1, 2 & 3 may not be copied or used without permission from Anne Wilson.