War is Bluest by Leila Farjami

War is the bluest of all bodies,

bluer than the sky.

It stands amongst its corpses

with its cold front,

its lifeless limbs wedged between

planets and bood,

bullets and bone.

With an outstretched palm

we touch

this permanent aura,

marred and mangled

by time.

The bluest

is war:

unchanging in color

under blows and devastation,

it never turns black—my heart,

or purple—your skin,

only perpetuates its blueness,

a sea of natural monsters

handling the dismembered over

to lunar tides,

capsized rafts,

and muffled underwater moans.

Motionless bodies

on a desolate shore,

laid out and nameless,

blanketed like sleeping children

on the warm and shifting sand.