The days aren’t all gray now,
though they can start that way—
dove gray, glove gray, elephant gray,
cloudy gray—

the color of coins or pencil lead,
pewter or the faintest gray of full moon
seen from a far-away perch from
this humble planet.

Some days in this first month of a new year
shimmer in blues from azure to cornflower,
from the color of arctic ice to the aquamarine
of tropical seas.

But true blue—a dye from Coventry
famous for not washing out, the color
of constancy, of unswerving loyalty,
of the steadfastly faithful—

is what I see when I look in your eyes,
even if what your baby blue irises lack
in melanin, they more than make up
in devotion.