The rainbow is Aunt Rain’s tearful laughter
The takes the landscape by surprise:
Such a glimpse of revelation!
For whom, indeed, is the door open,
The ladder leaning, the bridge awaiting?
She is my child, says Aunt Rain,
Craving light and water, born of the sun
Whose beams, pregnant once in water,
Flash all across the spectrum.
A wink, and Beauty comes into being!
Fleeting and capricious,
Where is Child Rainbow gone?
The rain says, “She hides in my mirror.”
The sun says, “She sleeps in my beam.”
The out-bow says, “She nestles in my arms.”