Cobalt

by Peter Saint-Andre

My friend is a cobalt poetry goddess:
she turns her phrases with a quiet power
and dances among her words with style and grace,
   like Sappho herself.

But she's often, so often, blue: the color
of the twilight sky, deep and clear, bordering
on the blackest night, yet never losing hold
   of the light of day.

Sometimes I wish I could brighten her a shade
or two -- make her azure or cerulean.
But then I know I'd never want to change her
   blue poetic soul.