Every weekday morning, I walk to the wall
built as a railroad crossing.

I am no expert at measurements,
but it stands perhaps sixty feet tall.

Stone by stone,
placed on this rocky ocean outcropping.

And every morning for days now,
the rainbow appears
as if rising from the horizon.

Some days it pulses with light,
every color of the spectrum.

Other days, like today,
it just gives me a hint of color.

Yet if I look within looking,
there’s the prism. However muted,
it is no less insistent in its being.

I wonder how it becomes internalized.
What nourishes, what registers,
and where.

Does it cause the blood coursing
through my heart to run richer,
a deeper red?

It feels like I breathe easier.
Is it oxygenating my lungs?

If science cannot explain it,
does it make it
any less true?