In the wake of the storm
after the tempestuous beatings
upon the face of the Earth,
when the end seemed like a
mythical dream, a fairy tale,
a far off ecstasy in another time,
behold the weariness of the storm
from its domination over
the fragile skies,
the weakening of its power,
it’s looking behind to see
what it left hanging in the azure skies,
the adornment of the naked firmament,
the rainbows in their full glory,
a readying for the gala of the skies,
the festivities of the celestial spirits,
the images of their
moving into the eyes
and hearts of the beholder
and putting stories
and fantasies in their minds.
When I fly to the skies
I want to see the perimeter
of the rainbow,
to feel the texture,
the softness of its body,
to go inside and feel the colors
and see what they do to my skin,
how they send a thrill to me,
how they ride up and down my spine,
how the aroma fills my lungs
and lifts me up closer to heaven
my new home, my new paradise,
my new spirit, my new me,
drifting in and out of the perimeters.

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