The blue now

The blue now settles
on the treetops and store awnings.
It asks, in its insistent silence,
what colors have your eyes
feasted upon today?
Where was your mind
when the blue now
whispered with its stiff wind
sentences puffballed
by cloud-white punctuation?
I can't speak for the mothers
buttoning up their children's winter coats
or the girls serving up
slices behind the counter,
or the bus and trolley operators
who deliver movement
pinned to their vigils.
All I know is that
the blue now hums
work songs and lullabies
from sunup to sundown
buzzing its lips, strumming
its strings, grinding the subtle gears
that drop the names from things
and quarry perception
from the slab of sight.