Rain on the windshield at seventy
miles an hour becomes a universe
of falling stars spreading out --
he looks at them, through them
to the unfolding depth that opens
to him three dimensional. And up
ahead on the horizon, where the earth meets the sky,
I think I see his vision of the ground mouth a kiss
to the blue that slobbers a reply.
"There are only so many rainbows,"
he says without a smile. "Drive faster."
We are chasing the rain
for mile after mile, watching the stillness
of that moment lost in us forever.