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.