The end of the rainbow
sits directly on top of my town.
Three dimensional columns
red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet
hug the buildings
encased in the river valley
of the green Mountains
fertile
I know the pot of gold sits there.
The rainbow is dense
but see through,
not elusive,
but concise, filling
the Valley I live in.
Sun engulfs raindrops
the size of plumbs
and the charcoal branches
of the maples are weighted down.
It is December.
We know the sunsets early
the signs of rain will freeze.
Today I believe this
color will freeze, too.
And whisk the flocks of turkeys,
the grazing deer,
the should have hibernated bear,
an eagle and a jay
up into compressive arms;
a blessing.
A touch of magic
thick
holy
reminding us of all we gained
and all we lost
as our moon, sun and earth
revolved, refracted and aligned.
A rainbow so complete,
standing over the home of my journey
A hand resting on my shoulder
I cannot miss.
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