Fading Blue

Oh doll, I whisper, holding up your dress;
it whispers nothing back in faded blue.
My hands are full of woven emptiness;
my memories are empty, filled with you.
Oh doll, I sigh; I’m thin and getting cold.
I warm the faded blue with sobbing breath.
Are you still young?  Am I still growing old?
My questions wear the fabric of your death.
The air is filled with orange shafts of light;
I’ve woken up ten thousand frozen motes.
The frigid day becomes a bitter night
which fails the symbolism it denotes.
Oh doll, I cry, and stain your dress with tears.
What more of faded blue? How many years?

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