Managua's Rainbow

    Glancing at gleaming white stars he rides high over red waters that morbidly look like blood while the sky is orange and the opaline mountains are iridescent but becoming red as the sunlight is shot through their prism of glass, the mass of which is barren of grass.  The waters turn yellow so smoothly and shallow under red ranges of rubies with monumental treasuries that shine ever brightly betwixt circumvent stairways ascending so highly.  Over them he’s gliding ever so lightly on a dragon that’s red and threading the head of a mountain that’s yellow so Managua so mellow rides the fellow below clouds that are orange and he’s bracing for storms that created a flood so red that it looked like bloodshed.  Now the clouds they are white and changing to colors more trite on the geographical progression of spectral regression.  The dragon it breathes vapors of white with the sun and its rays a translucent delight.  The sun is showering the sky with ashes of yellow that were once red, but diffractions of orange and refractions of gold pushed them forward to the horizon of white now succumbing to green and the median serene.  In front lies a ridge of topaz and gold and over its peak he motions to speak but a mist of yellow startles his fellow now green and so lean, undulating between fjords tourmaline like a spectacular dream.  The crags that follow are still glassy and hollow and give way to the blue once far from view.  Managua breaths an air that’s still green but knows in time it will change to rhyme a color more darker as the rainbow recedes farther to colors more starker.  Diamonds in the sky mirror reflections awry, transfiguring blue mountains gurgitating white fountains and flooding pink terraces on purple-rich surfaces that sprinkle above pearls a’ twinkle on slopes of blue curls.  The sky that was white retreats into night and the clouds are gone, dispersed and so long are the valleys of pink beneath roads that don’t sink because they’re green like the Earth, so proud in its girth.  The continent’s an abstraction of high elevation devoid of convention due to nature’s obsession with diversifying presentation, so stories mention.  With the land becoming dark, the sky that was pink is now purple and as he recedes to the sea there’s a blackness unseen with his eyes that are blue and transforming the view into indigo like the amethyst below that yields to the blackness of peaks which rise above waves that are purple and crashing splashing eroding the panorama of crags that were blue and now purple but will become black as the night extends over the ocean and upends the colors that seemed ethereally random like an unfathomable phantom.