chagall backdrop

The poem starts a place without word
outside the hourglass

The sound is an outburst (exclamation!)
whether a howl is uncertain, more likely a caw

Brains pretend to know, but they don’t
sadly at perch too high perhaps

It’s the last flight out in search
of reconnaissance stalled on the tarmac

On a high reef
or a low arete

In certain dreams I spiral down
sharp winding roads without guard rail

where perilous switchbacks cause me to dangle
precariously close to then over the edge

perennially in descent but how decent of you
to drop by thank you I would kiss you yet . . .

chances are odds are
merely an end to a means to an end

© Chagall 2014

Advertisements