In the spray behind cars and wagons
rainbows shifted, half-formed. Light,
cutting down from ledges of cloud,
shattered neatly through prisms of fine rain,
spanning two arcs across the motorway.
We drove through a pummelling wind,
the driver talking only of floods in the west.
Those brief elemental bridges hung
always before us, impassable.
Behind us in our spray we churned
prisms for those who followed.