chagall backdrop

From the low part of the land, in the windows at the crest
indistinct figures dance behind the golden glass lit to music
more imagined than heard, I can fog them with frost from here so
they disappear, how I love my crunch in new-fallen snow,
my back angled, face alee, burrowed in a warm woolen muffler,
a straight-away plus a bend away from the smile of your eyes at the door.

© Chagall 2014

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