A Rainbow

She’s like a long drive down Carson

when summer’s at its summit

and you get there without regret,

but you feel it slipping

like pearls of water through trembling fingers,

and she’s still there, hazy and real,

an arch across my eyelids,

straining towards tomorrow.

And the oasis of her smile

comes in waves like the sun

dancing with ghostlike glance

and simmering up from the black august asphalt

rising like revenants from the Mon

in ploys of light, to heat and coddle, then toy,

they tease of absence — her lips another day away.

The steam rises like cool hot mist,

soaks her soul, takes her in, and there, enveloped

I stretch further yet, peering passively

along some painted bridge,

along the periphery of her essence

she glances, I steal

the moment — fades and breaks,

splinters into rusted words of yesterday.

Yesterday! the very word perplexes

the passion of a passive mind,

unsettles the soul that had sought divinity

in a sliver of sunlight,

combed the unerringly diverse contours of the road

running circles round the West End,

all in the summer for a taste of her hair

to unhunger and appease the longing

that had long languished the psyche

O! for a sip of her being!

It is with forethought only

that she may be drunk fully,

her soul that rich, it speaks not

of spring, of becoming, but only of now.

I long for the orange of autumn — to be cooled by her aloofness,

but summer lingers, and now it must be.

It must be…my mind echoes these words,

empty and frail, she is here,

she lives in my soul,

only her and her white hot presence,

her summer…my spring

By: Don Fette and Emily Hanser