Friday, October 10, 2003

prisms

Clouds moved across the last visible stars. It would rain later, and in the morning there would be puddles on the parking lots. Each would contain a splash of oil, a small prism.

The puddle would seem to hold an imprisoned rainbow, and would worry about all the disappointed and unfortunate and confused who had made wishes on that particular rainbow and how those wishes would now go undelivered.

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