The veil has been rent —
the illusion that plagued us
is gone, like the face of a burst balloon,
and even the reflexive repugnance
that trickled bitter down our throats
has disappeared

So we are no longer willing to accept
wheels ever-spinning in mud,
and the dragon no longer gets to
sweep away a third of the stars
from heaven

All the things we were struggling for
are lost from view —
we see the remaining distorted image
now two-dimensional
on the scrap of discarded balloon
And day rises, dew jeweled,
before our grateful eyes.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 6, 2015