If with each word I fall shorter of you
should I then leave it to silence?
I confess the odds are half against
I’ll connect, yet I pursue the bridge,
the aftermath of breaking words, the masthead
on your brow through cortex of vision,
around and about your cape of good hope.
© Chagall 2014
Cool refreshing figs
Sweet blanched almond milk
Love her dessert spread
© Chagall 2014
I’ve imagined her name’s Elizabeth
but I’ve settled on mainly Sarah
for the time being.
© Chagall 2014
When you come to this country you should be asking yourself
what am I bringing rather than what am I seeking to take.
© Chagall 2014
Hard to explain how invasive you are
if you don’t acknowledge my line.
When I ask who you think you are
and you reply no one
I’ve never been more sad.
© Chagall 2014
Twenty years
tomorrow
since Eve
is gone
yet it’s still
to sink in
© Chagall 2014
In a dream about 1967, inside Tompkins Square Park looking out towards Avenue A
My Dad’s at the bus, has a Daily News, turns, then waves to me and smiles.
There is ceremony in stirring your lashes
with soft breath and stealth kiss,
I would just miss your lips and gently nudge
my chin into the soft of your cheek,
then press till I floated away.
© Chagall 2014
I will see you again despite not having eyes,
hold you tight lacking hands; I will always need you.
I hear your song but I miss your sigh,
you among the flowers, the sweetest gentian,
I will always kiss you.
I still feel your drop in the rain.
© Chagall 2014
She comes across grace, the way that she flows
in gowns, down stairs, through life,
utterly in love with fascination of love.
Minor chords fade to dissonant
whispers that barely touch nothing
at the end where time goes silent;
a puff of black.
I would rather she fade
to indigo.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 