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Lynn Domina

The Poet Responds to Her Lover, the Painter Who Claims Words Languish Beside Color, Texture, Shadow and Light
Blue, for instance. Think: Lake Superior, Lake Michigan, Grand Traverse Bay, damp sand cooling your soles, water soothing your skin, your spirit. Ripples, reflected sunlight stings your eyes, even the memory of it. Think: ellipse of sky among clouds, how as you descended Coe Hill you caught your glimpse, three cloud patterns, three weather formations shading Otsegos valleys. Listen as I list: cobalt, cornflower, delft, indigo, turquoise, topaz, sapphire, lapis lazuli. Listen as blue dissolves into blew or bleu. Once I overheard my grandmother confess she sometimes thought she saw

figures treading the sky, robed men and women conversing fearlessly. My daughter, more fearless than I, loves bats, snakes, every species of rodent; more observant, she fingers a stone, whispers lapis lazuli. Think: snow drifting through dim light, spruce fading into evening as evening sinks into night. I say jay and you will recall its squawk, chickadees fleeing the feeder. You will recall your story, twelve hawks clawing feathers from one bloodied jay. I say heron and you will remember our creek where it curves into the river, the birds calm attention, listening, still, how gracefully it unfolded its wings, disappeared.