In the Blue Market

In the Blue Market
Masked women sell petals of Aoi Hana
And the noise of the mechanisms in the hills
Pound, unendingly.

In the Blue Market
The sign of the fish is made
And the Alchemists sell cyanic gold
Skin dying, royal.

In the Blue Market
Cobalt and Aqua tiles
Outline, the deeper greys
Inside, are shadow.

In the Blue Market
All that is not sleight of hand,
Is found in gestures' absenses
In silences compressed by sound.

In the Blue Market
Turquoise birds, sing in sky blue
Cages, insults to injury.
Imprisoning freedoms.

In the Blue Market
The souls of the bound cry
For the moment of
Red.