You’re Not Really Trapped Until You Try to Drag Others Into It with You

This undiluted blue
Can’t be undiluted.
There’s the sound of a jet—

No sign of a contrail,
Though, yet. The weak eyes see,
The weak brain interprets,

The whole shell as pure blue,
Nonetheless. Color terms
Vary by languages.

We can’t pretend this sky
Blue is anything close
To universal blue.

So we’re stuck. In the snow.
With this body looking.
With this language naming.

And why are we sharing
Or pretending to share
Our confinement with you?

It’s only confinement
In the act of sharing.
Alone, it’s perfect blue.