Blue ink upon the paper brings to mind
The things I might be writing if instead
I used an ink like green or pink or red.
For now I’ll see what things the blue might find.
Now easy to my pen come words of wet
With lines like: “Lonely waters seek the land,
Their foamy fingers stretching toward the sand,
‘Till they to sea return again.” and yet
When I attempt perhaps this time to write
A word or two concerned with summer leaves
The blades all hang discolored from the eaves
Reflecting back a sapphire kind of light.
Oh, often there are days I wish I knew
Why everything I write is coloured blue.
Anthony DiCarlo is a second year student at Sacramento City College, pursuing a major in Classics. In his spare time he enjoys playing the piano, listening to music, being emotionally manipulated by his dog, and writing poetry.