after a rainstorm,
a late sunny evening
and driving from work
on the N4 to dublin
which breaks like a biscuit
at the M50 junction
where it takes you to dublin
as well. cars toss
fallen waterfalls, falling up
into the sunlight
like a conjurer’s string
of all bright coloured flags
in a prism which spangles
ahead and around me.
and the angles are perfect
and clouds have come down;
now the world is immersed
and feels bright as an oil slick.
all rainbows like pencils
pushed through the clouds
of hung water thrown upward
by wheels. these strung-
about colors, this greyness,
these half-controlled cars.