The Peacock Explosion — 30/30, #33 (revised)

That our organs are colored
seems ridiculous; after all, inside us
it’s always dark.

Still,
they are bright enough.
There must be
some reason for it,
some adaptive rationale…

perhaps what we know
of the pink bowel,
yellow pancreas,
and red, red heart
is only a dimmer-switch reality,

and when we are in love,
tossed by ecstasy, enraged, roiled
with any passion, they pop
into more garish neon shades?

I like that thought. Even
if it’s not true, it should be.

I shall decide that it is, and glory
in the image I can’t see: that
all the tension and rage I’ve ever felt
have led to a peacock explosion
of light within me.