The six-legged rainbow
petulant above
the three dozen red,
black and orange birds
defying one another
in sonic confusion;
quiet thunder once
fierce now distant
like griefs of childhood;
green and yellow
apples dripping
from branches sodden,
dropping the rain
they captured;
long grasses winking
drops in a breathless
wind after this whimsical gale;
worms screwing
through rain-soaked soil
like morays
through open seas;
then, later, much later,
the two- , four- , six- ,
quintillion trillion stars
to keep us lit
in a darkness
unfit for weeping
over our puny, featherless,
bland selves
facing this abundance:
We belong -
though laughable partisans
bilious, half-aware -
just that
each day the sun,
the old one,
kicks us into living.
About Gerald A. Saindon:
Gerald A. Saindon (G.A. Saindon), saindongerald@yahoo.com is 62 years old, lives on 5 acres, and writes poetry from that angle. He is married with 7 children, 8 grandchildren, and sees lots of grebes, herons, bullfrogs and sundry by the pond.
