There you go, chasing rainbows again.
And the dust settles where once you stood.
It’s a repeat of the last few times. And yet somehow it’s no easier.
No less empty or quiet when you’re gone.
They’re wildly colored, the rainbows.
So fluid in their span, arcing up and over the tree line.
You said once, we can walk across them. But I know better.
The spectrum always vanishes on approach.
It’s the morning you go, so we tie loose ends and try harnessing time. Again.
But the taxi always comes. The aircraft always pulls from your gate.
And we watch, then wait.
To see you land safely on the other side of the rainbow.