I’ll dream about my sun catcher tonight
when all the world has turned to black and grey,
so even if distance swallows your light,
I know all the colors I feel will stay.
In reds and golds my head lays on your chest
in our hammock the chartreuse forest hides
and through the violet haze I only guess
that we sit below bright cerulean skies.
And so if storm clouds gather then I’ll know
that our prism is flawed only by name
and all our refractions just make us glow
brighter than any church window they’d name.
‘Cause if this light is holy, then it’s true:
all of love’s colors come from me and you.