From rainbows seep the swamps of love,
The last of life’s exquisite pain.
The penetrating western wind
Ignites the Iris bows of light.
It shakes the leaves on alder trees,
Flits opalescent up the stream.
It licks putrescent bodies dry,
And sucks the droplets hope had left.
It sweeps the path through canyon depths,
Where night and luminescence clash.
It draws from springs the howls of storms,
And strews the walls with twice shed tears.
Beyond the canyon mountains rise.
Beyond the mountains: empty skies.