Flying Colors
Ceci est la couleur de mes rêves. Joan Miró 1925
This is the color of my dreams, Miró tagged forget-me-not blue. Miró, faceless,
has taken my hand. Before we named it, we did not see the sky. We still confuse
each other with ourselves. The sky in our veins, our blood in the soil. Only from
a distance does the Universe repeat itself: red blooming to red, blue basking in
blue. On our side of heaven, mudslinging makes house calls, but Miró's still the
gardener of empty space. Cerulean blue daub culled from two scallops of blue.
How will we see in common if we don't take someone's part? Oh! Let us rise to
the occasion of our one and only heart.
