Rainbow Splash

Arching from inland to ocean,
the storm dragging its tail,
it pours its essence out:
indigos and teals fill the water;
blues rise to the skies and spread themselves
in the mirrors of the shallows;
greens blend and reach out to each other
in the vegetation of land and water;
yellows and golds drape the cliffs
and fly away on the breasts of kestrels.
I look for reds, like blood at the scene of a crime,
and find them splashed on stones and shells
and pooled in the ominous tide.

How will we harvest the rainbow?
Will we wrap ourselves in it, like Joseph?
Or are we to remain in the pit,
never to be the dream-meaner
who saves his people-- and thus himself?

Anyone can see the colors.
Only a few can wear them.
Fewer still can let the light illuminate them.
And fewest of all become the prism
of their own luminescence.