A glittering double arc of light and color
domed above the city last night.
The sky, cleansed of dark clouds and
freshly washed, sparkling.
One bird burst into a twilight song,
a trill of notes and unbound joy,
loud in the hush after the storm.
I imagine faces all over the city
turned up to that arc and its halo,
its beauty tying us all together
for a few sacred moments.
The story goes there’s a pot of gold
at the end of that rainbow.
Gold is nice, but I’d rather
find you there waiting for me at the end of it.
Let me take your hand
and perhaps we can dance the length of it
back together, our feet touching
nothing but light.
This is beautiful 😭❤️
Sometimes the real treasure is not what we find at the end of the rainbow, but the presence we imagine waiting for us there. I loved the way the poem moves from the wonder of the sky to the simple grace of a hand to hold.