Hydrangeas

​He says the problem is me I take
the words too seriously and this is not
what normal women do and certainly not
what variegated hydrangeas do.

My shifting gets in the way of his pleasure
so that what he feels is unable to sit still
next to a preferred conception of himself
I ask him - what is it you want me to be? 

I am whatever my attention is blue
spruce needle now seriatim droplets tumbling
over myself imparting a scintillating universe
of unintended dews on silver trunk.  

My current form ferments his face until I recognise
defeated accusation bearing a message -
you'll never change he said as I became
more things moment to moment
than he has ever imagined. 

Time turned his acid words from lilac warnings
to violet threats and then the tell-tale flinty grey
of hydrangea decay but in his desertion
I coalesced a thunderstorm creek.

Steeped his brittle petals soft and dowsed his words 
over my stones until I was the sun again and fell pursued
deep into water dragon's red open throat
his proud variegation now but shallow change to me.