he was fragile as sunlight,

some say he was a sunray

that got caught in the night.

In the hierarchy of color

he was neon fibers in glow

like a vertigo afflicted color

just fallen off a rainbow.

 

His soul was a paper kite

fastened to a guiding line,

longing for the free sky,

seeking a comet’s overfly.

Always asking of the flame

if he could be light again.

 

He dreamt of lifting off

from his terrestrial jail,

unwinding tethered love

like a rocket’s burning trail;

so he could once more

rain color from the sun,

so he could once more

light up the undertone.

 

His soul was a paper kite

fastened to a guiding line,

longing for the free sky,

seeking a comet’s overfly.

Always asking of the flame

if he could be light again.

 

Summer day at the port of life

in a windward pursue of stars

he rose to the airless darkness

beyond the nebula of Mars,

he passed the crystal rivers

from where rainbows rain,

reached the shores of the sun

and there he was light again.