Jade Blue


Solar flares and proton storms,
noctilucent breakers, the happy resolution
of recurring dreams; all the hue
of Buddha’s Seventh Stone.

On a midnight walk in Arizona
we saw the once-in-a-century appearance
(at that latitude) of the Aurora Borealis.
It made us think the mountains were on fire,
until we saw striations in the shifting red sky curtain
turn slowly to

the perfect color
of the time we saw surf light up at night,
on Venice Beach, when we searched
for the Holy Barbarians, (who had already
made their getaway). We stumbled across the sand
to see that all the waves were luminous,
glowing with

the perfect color
of the final installment
of my recurring childhood dream –
swept overboard in a storm
I would always startle awake; that time
I found to my surprise that I could breathe
underwater, gliding graceful as a fish
while the storm raged above me.
I swam, untouched by trouble, at peace.
in a warm and welcoming sea

the perfect color
of your eyes, that day,
the first time that you said
you loved me.