In capturing the rainbow,

April is over, and I'm sad to hear.



sometimes the sky slips
landward -- tiptoe tumbling, heels
over head, cartwheel-careening -- into
murky-bottom depths; forest-greens
and ravaged gravel roads; skimming
its knees on the elliptical infinities
of porch-swings, pavement, potholes.
{The oceans of decaying sea-flowers;
a threshold of nebulous dreams gone sour,
incarcerated and sunken [dismally
drowned] like aubades
and star-fish;
entranced, disillusioned, segment-twisted
beneath ripples,
rejuvenated cloud-tendrils aching for
elevation and annexation/alleviation.}

Upon conquering,
sometimes the sky trickles
earthward -- treetop stretching, splatter
bursting over the zenith, dawn
yawning pale-crimson and azul --
onto downward spiral puddles:
{oil spill whimpers glossing the
surface; tapering,
tainting, tantalizing, turulich,
turchini, tala: tautological.}
The sky sits on the platform;
the window-weeping edge;
balanced on the beat of
a drum,
toes testing the tepid waters
of ubiquity [lingering humanity.]
Softly, softly,
coughing, it sighs between
breaths and breadths and wing-widths
-- the seconds separating dappled eyelash
kisses upon cheeks -- as
April turns to May,
and daylight crescendos
into day.