chagall backdrop

My mind falls short
of the wide berth
my heart cuts

over the gap
in my soul

simply put
my brain is no match
for my being

words, frozen ropes
tighten and snap

try to wrap around
what love is

the desire I have
for making

the yearning
plain

stanzas are not sighs
couplets not kisses
meter ain’t dance

rhyme is not two wrists
pulsing as one

in synchronized
blood-letting

what I want to say is best
said through only sound

before the formation
of words obscured

visceral expulsions
explode from the larynx
bang their head on the soft palette

carried by breath
the wind of the soul

whorls and tornadoes
exhale in a landscape of self-dilation

deflate
and die
just a little

without enunciation
no interference
from tongue and lips

open sounds
we’d hear
from the primal canopies

the coos of the ancients’ gardens

© Carlos Chagall, 2013