(Untitled, being a section of a longer work entitled, Tapes to a Dead Man)

There's a rainbow there, though there wasn't a rain

And its colors are distant, like a closet's closed door

Had opened to reveal long-dead wardrobes

And the dust of sunken colors in a swirl of moths.

When I think of you I think of shipwrecks, bodies

Washed ashore in a land away from the lives they led,

And a crowd pushing down to the verge of the beach

To picture the carnage in scrapbooks years later,

Faded snapshots whose edges tore like insects' wings.

The rainbow time has come again, and yet it hasn't,

I can feel the desire burning, and yet I cannot,

The distance of those days I measure in closed doors.

​

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/9wfh77/lamp/e9k88zm/?context=3

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