He holds the glass tube carefully, a geneticist or doctor,
spilling forth colors of the rainbow, colors of the wind.
He could trace a story with them, create a miniature world
of fantastic visions and shapes, swirling with hope and dreams.
A thin stream of blue spins forth, blending into dark green,
the images bleeding into one another, the light catching them,
holding them. They fall on his forehead, a beacon of
perfectly blessed light and warm beauty.
Oh, behold this scientist's perfect study, this physical paper.
This beautiful painting glows from the sun and sparkles and shines.
Is it more than a clear window, more than simple glass?
Is it more than an intensely presented colorfest?
Yes, with the faces and the paintings and the light.
These colors, dark and pale and broad and thin, just glimmer,
shimmer as they pour forth through glass,
staining the ground and those who stand awed beneath it.