chagall backdrop

I’m lost
thank you for your
hints and oblique shapes

Mist on my face
in a glade that’s
not mine

In this place
where there’s no time
to advance

Until your gaze falls,
and I’m felled by grace
face down in the aromas
of lovemaking: pungent,
sweet, salty and loamy

On our backs
we are blinded by pulses of sun
revealed through windblown branches

We are shadows in the after-blink,
spectral and green
embroidered in the foreground

© Chagall 2014