Who she can be I do not know,
An apparition from my past,
An aberration of my optic nerve,
Phantom of the mystic night,
Or some kind of mental tick?
But I think the hue was not an accident
Nor is the way I still remember her
All wrapped in blue,
With thick gray hair
Above a soft, unfocused face.
She loomed, opaque, secure
There at the locus of my mind,
Illuminated by a glow
As from a votive lamp,
The space in which she'd camped
Blooming from the dark
Behind my eyelids,
Shut ten minutes, give or take,
In silent meditation,
Then fading to oblivion
Without a blessed clue.
(c)2006 John I. Blair
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