Like a toe into water
the word pushes onto the page
testing . . . no, that’s not quite right
Paris morning, chill of the starry night
warmed by copper . . . nix
I inhale deeply and shape my mouth to her’s
at right angles, I gently exhale
her cheeks bellow, her eyes open
and our heart begins to beat . . . maybe
© Chagall 2014
I’m sure
the oak is
certain
© Chagall 2014
Behind the lullaby
celestial harmonic
breathy reeds beyond
the expanse there
billows life in bubbles
the multiverse born
of placenta from nil
inverts as blown glass
to become life like diamonds
on black velvet and God’s
throaty voice is every tone
and angels are arpeggios
© Chagall 2014
A shot in the arm
of hope and love
triangulated
A pat on the back
of consolation
and soft asides
A kiss on the lips
of grace embellished
small, soft daubs
© Chagall 2014
I find
when I cut it
at arm’s length
it doesn’t
make me cry.
© Chagall 2014
The bells of the new day joyously ring –
correction, triumphantly rang! – while
cold winds swept the whitest clouds
to the threshold of endless azure
and they and I in echelon bank hard
in a yaw and vertical dive till
ceremoniously, in quiet accord we right
to the ringing bells
© Chagall 2014
When Mercury and Venus are devoured
by the wake of collapsed stars
we will emerge again as purest
love
© Chagall 2014
Under pale blue sky
I sense the holy
in gilded leaf,
stained glass amber,
muted green cool shade,
amazed to find
a cathedral even here
© Chagall 2014
How odd the stars that burn so hot
can wink, demure, so cold
I am warmed by the faces
of so many moons
More real than the lights
of jet planes
These nights I find
I slow down seeking free fall
Up, so I float
without need to ever
look down
© Chagall 2014
Maybe it’s not the words we lack
but the keenest sense of what to feel.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 