Noiseless at first, a spray of mist in the face, a nose- gay of moisture never destined to be a downpour. Until the sodden cloud banks suddenly empty into the Seine with a loud clap, then a falling ovation for the undrenchable sun--which goes on shining our shoes while they're filling like open boats and the sails of our newspaper hats are flagging, and seeing that nobody thought to bring an umbrella, puts up a rainbow instead. A rainbow over the Seine, perfectly wrought as a draw- bridge dreamed by a child in crayon, and by the law of dreams the connection once made can only be lost; not being children we stand above the grate of the Métro we're not taking, thunder underfoot, and soak up what we know: the triumph of this arc- en-ciel, the dazzle of this monumental prism cut by drizzle, is that it vanishes
		Excerpted from A Kiss in Space by Mary Jo Salter. Copyright © 1999 by Mary Jo Salter. Excerpted by permission of Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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