YOUR BLUE PERIOD

has lasted longer than my own
where I went deep into a fugue
of Prussian blue and nearly succeeded
by dropping into a black hole
where the vastness of open space
contracted and bent into confused scenes

the violence of rejection has become
for you a turquoise haven of abstraction
a hue transferred to the reality
of a chair that has the arms you do not
use for emphasis as your head moves
from side to side — a continuous negative

that is still a decision — a complexion
of thought shaken into shapes about you
as if your own spontaneous designs are
images of possible futures not yet deigned
to be good or bad just other accidents
infatuations that wait in arbitrary places to happen