Hers, sun-streaked henna.
Seven A.M.  rise, breakfast.
Biscuits, sweet butter.

Lemon sunlight soaks
kerchiefs, atop bell towers.
Tentative breezes.

Salted, ocean air.
Early morning carillons.
Somber atoning.

Odd-tone harmonies.
First mists, early melodies.
Stark white, strewn about.

Clean, cold, broken glass.
Timeless, low skies, clouds, throb teal.
Wilds of the wisp.

Nestled, starched linens.
A young girl with her father,
gaze up at heaven.

Leap from the tower.
Hand in hand, en gravitas.
Parachutes open.

Nothing but happy.
Endings come while comings go.
Nothing shall remain.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013