Some days I am a small blue thing
crushed in the palm of your hand;
smeared on the soil, beneath your careless heel.
...
I strain toward the light, toward you;
caught between staying and becoming.
Lost in shadows, disappeared in the
language of your indifference,
a theory you entertain, but briefly.
Like when you pause, let loose your breath
...not quite a sigh.
...
Your hand opens and I will,
for that moment, shine,
gaining substance from your gaze;
I spin, sparkle; captivate you...
...
in a moment's distraction
you will always reach for me,
and I will be there waiting,
your small blue thing.