Bus blue

A pale blue dot is home but the way things and sky and mountains rose we heard bus conductor say “right” .We’d dash off in a rickety village bus towards a distance and blue desire.

We and conductor are on same dot, his bag of money a small rectangle in the vast roundness of a blue dot. His “right” is powerful , with force a bus achieves desire and distance.

With no blue at the end of a desire, the bus blue turns afternoon gray but here is another blue beginning ,he and you and a mountain’s blue .And the mountains are so smooth in smoky blue daydreams of eyes and sky is blue in a pale white dot.