You can't see a rainbow if you face the sun.
Look to your shadow and light will come.
But first the storms, the floods, the stumbling.
In a bus shelter I saw a girl trembling,
anchored to her screen while overhead
promise arched, fading unread.
Its nemesis is common -- seen on puddles,
in crystals, soapy bubbles, cataracts -- but
they have no life after the fact.
Noah's shadow on the deck promised hope,
primal as the work of his own hands.
In the lea of this ancient tale I can add
no more, now it's getting dark again.