Fire and Water

Pink
As a pale silk slip puddled on the floor
And raging the full spectrum toward violent red,
Coming as close as possible while missing, instead pressing against

Purple
As the underside of shadow
But brought vibrant into crisp articulation
Flaming in contrast with

Orange
As a tangerine exploded into oblivion
Sticky, coating everything, more excruciatingly beautiful
Than any other laid out, melting into

Yellow
As if daffodils had suddenly burst into luminescence
Blindingly gorgeous, breathtakingly remarkable,
Not even beginning to be reflected in

Blue
As close to clear as blue is permitted to venture
Flickering in waves, made more, not less
By what is exuberently blazing above it

And I watched this from the porthole
I, only eight, and small enough to fit
In the small, compact space in the wall of the ship
That gazed onto that sight,
A curtain pulled behind me, making the vision my own

I couldn't even hear the waves,
But I could almost hear the slow evolution of time

And if I put on the same clothes after that, what matter?
If I wore the costume of an eight-year-old girl,
When my soul had seen what few will ever witness
And had aged into wisdom far beyond what most will ever attain,
What matter?
I knew what was underneath.
And how, anyway, could I ever share that moment
With those who hadn't been there
And who hadn't felt that sudden burst
Of living fire emblazoned in the sky?