It was a sight to see:
A rainbow in the middle of a rocky path—
the miraculous intersection of rain and sunlight—
just a few steps short
of a forest in which serenity permeates
like tear gas.
Only this time, the tears are not for death,
but for the noble pursuit of its destruction.
Yes, that is not possible.
Still, sleep.
Enjoy the view during the day;
make more of it at night
while you still can.
It gets better and better, truer and truer—
until it doesn’t.
Be careful not to think that it is going to last.
There is an ascent. There is a descent.
This is a cycle.
No one stays in the in-betweens.
But, surely, you know that.
You who can see through all the colors of the arc—
all of its vanity; all the pretty make-believe.
Surely, you know that.
The air is no good either
but you say: “Right now, it does not matter.”
So, you stare and wait
stare and wait
stare
and wait
at the sight to see:
a blank wall and an empty figure.
Look at the bright sky:
outside, it is raining.
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