Blue is a poem about the first time that I ever went abroad. I went to Malaysia, then put my impressions into couplets seven years later.
Along Malaysia’s white sand lies a cerulean ocean,
blue until the water touches the blue sky.
Endless blue: water speared by luminous scales of fish blue;
shoreline women stating fashion, blue silk against brown skin;
and the wiry blue line on the fishing reel: long-sleeve, thin
white shirt, rod held swaying over water on a cobalt night.
Along beaches, at restaurants, folks hawk blue,
so even the paper lanterns glowing yellow seem sapphire.
Night and day stumble blue, snagged between purple and green,
and the sun moon tides roll between cerulean and steel-grey blue,
their waves flecked with white foam,
and even that white tinged ultramarine.