Sometimes her confusion is an island

She feels her confusion
in a dress she is afraid to
turn back to-
and find the same woman;
In red or in blue.

She believes her confusion is
in that woman; An islander beckoning
to unravel, in split tongue,
the threads of her dress
to find two naked reels
of red and of blue.

But, she knows her confusion lies
naked with her, in the light of dawn,
looking behind her, at two colors
pulling her apart
in timeless birdsong

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