The rainbow (sliced by electrical wires,)
is just a vivid frown.
Roy G. Biv, lounging sadly
across the sky.

And the light that spills over the
apex of the heavens,
drips as slowly and as golden
as honey
to the earth.

To my earth, where anonymous
wives in luminous windows
wash dishes.

Where we wait in ebony
parking lots for car lights.

Where we blow it out the window.

Where shopping carts are pushed
by invisible ghosts.

Where the cracked trees tip their
slender bodies into the glass-
topped ponds, as immovable as
the booming clouds.