Before he became a rainbow, he was a raindrop
rolling off a leaf. He sprinkled himself in gardens
of sunflowers and daffodils. He liked yellow. He
would ride the moonbeams like a whale in the
ocean, capsizing with laughter when a gust of water
would squirt from the sky and tickle his cheek.
And when he was a mountain, everyone would scale him
to see how high they could climb. He was the
nectar of the mango that I wanted to drink,
the icing on the cake that I wanted to
lick off. He was the diamond in the rough with
smooth edges I would peer into and see prisms
of light. He was burgundy merlot with a fruity
bouquet, I loved getting drunk on his whimsy.
He was a magician in a traveling show
disappearing behind his cloak, a tea bag in a china
cup steeping his brew, beckoning me to take a sip.
And when he opens like a butterfly to spread
his wings the trail of color glistens in the rain,
and those who he winks at follow him and know
that they will find gold from his crown to his feet.