by Carmen Ruggero
“Will I see the rainbow after tomorrow?”
The poet plays with the notion
while jumping over the iridescent arc.
Sand sifts smoothly through the hourglass
half full, half empty at the birth of twilight
and an eerie notion stills his heart.
“What if, what if, the rainbow breaks in half?”
Sand has drifted in errant ways.
His path has steepened; he labors to climb.
Wind’s shifted north, he’s facing south
and pushing forth one inch at a time.
“Will I see the rainbow beyond tomorrow...?”
The poet knows it’s a wretched wish.
“I can’t see one grain of sand
past the one on which I stand.”
Doubts push and pull with equal force,
one step forward two steps back
until silence roars and the poet dreams no more.
Sand sifts quickly through the hourglass
half empty, half full at the birth of twilight
and a black moon darkens the sky.
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