Can you feel the rainbows of air,
tingling our confessions
and making us honest breathers-
on streets where reflections
blossom open
like an afterlife.
We are given muse,
pondering angel paintbrushes
that glide into our vocal soul.
The world grows
outside of our minds
and begins to sing-
the sun a ministry,
a legend taught to dream.
Voices of foreign languages
surround, echo, fly at light,
watching a new world arise-
and there is only intimate skies
to remember, to play again
in what will save our time.
