Colours That Make My Eyes Shy

it takes me back centuries

you are the photograph,

I took when I was six,

with my big blue camera,

wide-eyed I was slick,

and poised and ready,

to take another blurred attempt,

at the capture,

of life and limb and sweat,

every bird,

that ever coloured out the sky,

in streaks so very unlike blue,

in shades that made my eyes

feel shy,

and ever-searching,

I still feel as I did,

when I look at your reflection,

in the bottom of my glass,

trying not to glance,

or stare or peek or flash,

this tired sight in your direction,

I’d rather sit right here,

pretending,

being strange,

whistling sonatas to the moon,

where you find me,

in the garden,

as you have.