The rainbow we were supposed
to behold the next day
or the day after
never appeared.
Our eyes grew strained,
our necks stiff,
and the heavy ashen clouds
settled over the hills and streams.
The fish rose to the top
and rolled over
like silver bombers in maneuvers.
Who could believe it?
No rainbow, no
break of color, no
sign? Someone’s forgotten,
we reasoned.
And we began to pray
for the cleansing rains again
and the waves rising
to wash our cities–
friend’s and foe’s alike–
with the green tow of return.
