Rainbow.

I stopped on the corner

of Swenson avenue;

my eyes caught in the rainbow

splattered against the sky.

It was so tangible;

like strips of coloured playdoh

squeezed through the fingers of clouds,

so vibrant

and alive.

Strangers in the street stood beside me

like comrades

fighting the urge to keep moving

along our roads of busy discontent.

We were all still,

our pupils fixed at the point

where the mystical and the ordinary converged;

knowing that if we looked away

the illusion would shatter,

scattering across the wind

and scrambling back into pockets of raindance

like a spectre that never was.

But, I know it was.

It wasn’t just real,

it was reality;

a brushstroke of existence itself

that held in its form

the forms of so many bewildered minds

whose gasps of delight

intensified this arc of stain glass,

dangling in the blue span of etherstuff

and bird wings.

Pitter-pats of rainblobs

landed on my nose,

cutting the rainbow

with the giggles of my blinking eyelids.

Regular thoughts wriggled back into

the spaces behind my cleansed irises,

but I clutched at those dancing colours a moment longer,

holding their tails between my thumbs and forefingers

and ravelling them around my wrists.

I captured the insignia of the sky the only way I knew,

drawing its hues into these monochrome words.