My love is a magic mirrored pool
Of sacred waters by a grove.
From afar, his deep countenance draws me.
His droplets seem from here to be a viscous ink that's melted
From indigo flowers that grew too high
And birds that flew too near the sun.
I go to dip my finger in
With overwhelming sadness,
To write the futile warnings
In big letters across the sky,
But when I come and stand beside
The rocks along the shoreline,
I see the gentle waves are lapping,
The water is clear and bright.
I cup my hands and dip them down
And pull the water to my face.
I taste its sweetness, feel its refreshing touch,
And then I pray that indigo
Will ever grow up towards the sun,
And bluebirds chase its rays forever up.

-jenn