Mixed

so here we are again
in the twilight
here the red of the sunset lives
and here is where the blue learns to be blue
as the waves hit the shore
all the poems come here to crash against
the rocks

I'd rather be the wind
in the trees
than the roar
of the train
I'd rather be the fleeting blue
of the bluebird
than the red of the sunset
I'd rather say nothing
that you think clever
than to say
nothing
at
all