You never knew
what shade of blue
to call her. If you
should follow her
out of the forest
and down the lane
to the cottage wired
for wifi and adjacent
to the limestone kiln
rumored by men
to cook children. In truth
she fires it day after day
in hopes of setting that
vulgar story to rights.
You hope to brush
against her in a dance
of errands and luck. Go
ahead and try. She used to
be water, still and indigo
deep. Now she is steam.
