The brutal rainbow reminded me
I cannot hold beautiful things
for posterity because good things
are fleeting, keeping us chasing them
until we stumble off the earth.
That’s living at best, suffering at worst,
and all the fancy pilings of touch in between.
Holding tightly to a vague memory
of a make-believe mountain
drenched in quiet color.
Angels plant images like these
to sinners who repent in sleep
so they don’t drown in groggy sobs.
Bone and stone, star and sight
all carry the same oath, a blessing
when released on northern lights
and let go over dark seas.
A day unfolds with no grace,
lots of malice,
and frolicking crows;
you say “nonsense” like it’s a bad word.
I crave the gobbeldy-gook
like a fish needs to move forward.
Pump the feet
and go round and round-
when it stops,
the rest is soporific.