To be surrounded by blue: the heart aches
for the sea, the sky: the rush and quiver
of water. Each tile shivers
in blueness, echoed by the hues
of others: a silent mosaic of glass.
And standing in front of the stained
windows: Christ. His hands are gold,
his head is gold, his feet are gold…
Arms open, he appears to be swimming
in deepest blue: his head is tilted forward,
his eyes open. Is this what it would be
like, to be inside a Chagall painting?
The swimming Christ, the whirl
Of dream-colour, the two bright lights
by the outstretched hands? The blue
is overwhelming: the viewer is lost
in front of it, becomes part of it.
Blue invades the entire sensing mind:
thoughts become slow blue pulses,
memories are shaded in sapphire tints.
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