chagall backdrop

In the first still of the evening
when branches hold their last light
and the dying day looks back and deems itself good,
when nothing moves – even birds on a limb
and sound travels in short waves

fireflies rehearse their lines
they stutter in quirky hover
oh what to say to the dark, kisses or whispers
small blue pilot flames throughout the trees
blink once since they like what they saw

and every now and then
a rousing wind that sweeps it all
clean, accelerates clouds through violet skies

the transition comes quick, deadly serious
day turns to night, the food chain resets
ancient hunters and petite nymphs begin to grace
the heavens in jeweled patterns conceived as
perforations, star paths which one tears
to recollect segments of sky

© Chagall 2014