the old blue lady pursed her lips
and stitched her words into the silky wind
while dancing youngly on the tips
of her toes in the brown summer sand
she picked the flower and became a rose
and blew under the pink cotton tree
and dipped the endings of her toes
into rain of the oldish illusory sea
and dancing lacily on the ground
of a piney soul-red chair
she dug her toes without a sound
into the vinyl of her lover’s hair
a withered smile her sculpture bears
of a heart lost to its own
for though her toes went everywhere
they never found a home
