Beyond the cobalt blue shells with metallic underbellies
and the mirror that reflects someone you aren’t anymore
is the rain, and the colors that come with it:
spelling promise out for the illiterate of the bunch.
No longer do I bend over to pick up the sea glass
or the bottle caps, or even the smooth stones,
because I have found the promise elsewhere:
in that rainbow I saw the other day when I found
myself staring blankly out of the bus window.
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