Early evening patter on the roof
morphs into an insistent shower

—what ho? rain?
—yes, rain now—

followed by equally emphatic sun
blazing in the west, illuminating

the wall of cranky clouds that has
moved on, heading east, as am I

in the car, when, holy cow, RAINBOW!
curves its full-spectrum self over

the pines arrowing into the charcoal
sky. The cloudburst of the word bursts

from me—RAINBOW!—not as if
we never see them here, but rarely

so vivid, and with every curve and turn
it pops up again, and I’m announcing

—RAINBOW!—

though there is no one listening,
except for maybe the red-headed angel

who long ago told me that she hoped
to work in rainbows once she made

it to heaven, and I have no doubt
that she did, so perhaps my enthusiasm

nudges the immortal lighting show
team as I beg for an encore

—Hana hou! Again! More!
Keep rainbowing on!—

applauding at the long stoplight,
its red no match for this moment’s sky,

unable to look away from
the glorious arcing prism,

never wanting to see it fade.