
If we all,
tout le monde,
share one,
simply a moment
to rejoice
in freedom
that depends
on no one
or thing
other
than its own
desire to be,
it’s its own will.
I yearn,
so I crave,
I stretch in earnest
into only
hopeful things,
the art
of our possibilities,
the lyric wit
of our songs
our collective wit,
our prayerful songs.
And I love you best
perhaps by not knowing you
at all.
. . .
And you and I
will dive
from high towers . . .
© Chagall 2013
