Indigo
small wound #50
First Act: blue.music
Second Act: blue.poetry
Indigo
At six in the morning
streets are still—
only I
wander
Rain,
blue light
The night
undresses,
turns
indigo
Buenos Aires sleeps.
Nothing moves.
Nothing
looks at me.
Before the sky breaks
I follow a trace—
déjà vu
I search for a voice,
a memory
misplaced
An absence
my body
remembers
A taste.
A pulse.
A weight.
something took—
someone
I lived.
I drank.
I loved.
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I have a burning desire to create, and a dream to make a living off it.
With love, Kasu
Experience previous colors:
Thank you Mark Crutchfield, for the inspiration.
Every quiet gesture helps.
I long for the day when nothing moves. It's too much movement now.
“An absence my body remembers” quietly holds the center of this piece for me. The poem moves like early morning itself — half memory, half weather — and never tries to explain the wound it’s circling around. That restraint is what gives it atmosphere.