Rainbow Sickness

The cosmic bird sat upon my shoulder:

Fantastic Philosophies Divine!

Parabolic Oras Of Creativity!

Planetary Symphonies Sing!

Ancient Truths Manifest!

 Those were her songs of an Enriched Tomorrow.

But as she flew away

    a cold wind reminded me of death,

and her wings

                                   drove that zephyr

                                                                   under my skin.

“…i’m sure you won’t come back.”

I never thought to own you.

The way one doesn’t own the shimmer of the river

or breeze of summer.

Your place was elsewhere

bound for endless oceans and opulent forests.

And yet,

I still blow the dust off your earrings,

on my bookshelf

as if you are an anticipated guest.