holding hands
we step from a Jesus cloud
the newly minted seconds refract
our unexpected lives
scars beget scars
beneath our chosen clothing
in the invisible season
where cerulean is kinetic
you wield the blue
as if tiny blue flowered orchids
were the only light
worshipped in the jungle
spring ticks on as Bowie did
each minute renovated
his star man is wasted on the moon
looking out as we look up
surrounded by dissonant colors
the human eye cannot distinguish
he is moving toward them
endlessly toward them