A Planet with a Blue Star for its Sun

I should have brought blue roses for the man,

Pale blue, dark blue or coloured like the sky.

His grief is like the darkest navy span

Of uniforms that sailors who comply

With grave formality must wear. Instead

I brought those red and white blooms, ones I knew

He loves, not realizing how widespread

His suffering strained. He occupies a pew

Now in the church of ache in which he prays

For meaning and relief. His words there are

Purple as an asteroid which swells and stays

Forever. Its tumescence stretches far.

He needs to find a cure, not white and red.

He needs an ocean blue from love instead.