Anna Tynsky

I carry my cornflower blue day
in my back pocket for safe-keeping.

When soft gray no longer comforts,
when summer over saturates
with its sweet cut-grass green,
when the crystal clear winter
cuts too deep
into a wanted coziness,
and when you
have gone on your way,
then it is time.
I take out my cornflower day.
Like a map, I unfold it,
pressing out the creases,
mindful of the worn edges.

And there and then
my soul is home again
as a cornflower blue sinks within.

And there and then
you walk beside me
through the blue time
through the blue sky within.