MoonBow

We drove home through showers,
past trees and houses, lit
by the nearly full moon.

We turned a corner, across the sky
an arc of pale orange, soft green,
washed-out blue:
a ghost of a promise you made
of peace between us.

Five minutes, ten minutes later, the bow
was still there. When we got home, it seemed gone,
but it's still there, somewhere,
lingering, your promise.

Glimpses of Wessex

© Paul McCombie 2005-6