Amid four-thousand-seven-hundred-one miles, 

you’re the biggest rainbow gaily arched 

and watching me above,

enjoying the picturesque 

of me 

bragging my cheeks 

to the timid raindrops 

pouring down:

. . . from the rusting valleys 

to the greenest mountain;

. . . from the rushing rivers

to the bluest sea:

I see you smile

dreaming of me.

If Tampax birds,

and sexy-walking penguins 

can dream of something real,

why can’t we?