At the museum my friend,
the blind man, said, "Show me your favorite,"
so we made our way to the room with 
the Degas Dancers in Blue.

As we stood before it, my friend said,
"I know dancers, the sound of their 
toe shoes as the move into place on stage, 
the smell of the hair pomade taming their buns,
the rough feel of tulle tutus, the tinkling piano
and the vibrations of the floor as they dance."

"I know the dancers but not the blue. What is blue?"

I consider the question and finally reply.
"Blue is the sound of the fountain in the park
and it's the taste of peppermint tea on your lips,
the smell of the sea air at sunrise, the feel
of ice cubes on your fingertips, the calm 
of an early spring morning.

The blind man said, "Oh, I understand why
blue is your favorite. Let's go see the Picassos now."

This preliminary draft poem was inspired by the April 18 prompts at Miz Quickly and NaPoWriMo, more the former than the latter.