I realized then that it was far, far away
in the distance, the small v of an eagle
who slowly rises, dips on currents of air
© Chagall 2015
Archive for January, 2015
No physical pain, we take for granted
but it’s such a blessed gift; our contented silence
is our cry of joy.
© Chagall 2015
She said she saw the bittersweet
autumn in early spring, knew that
sunlight over time would burn her
colder than today.
© Chagall 2015
I’ve always been a sucker for a good lead pencil
mechanical or otherwise, with exotic size like
double o’seven, o’eight, or o’nine – the promise
of scribe on paper, the spilling of thought
like blood though black on brilliant white fibers, pressed
so many linens to emboss with the outpour of my mind
but the scratch – listen . . . do you hear that? that’s quill on papyrus
the sound of it, the sight of it, so much like sex in so many ways
the north-south-west-east of it, a counting of blessings
© Chagall 2015
I can’t open jars or snap my fingers to the beat
Feeling numb, I need some kind of dumb thumb treatment
© Chagall 2015
She’d shown me how to use the stars and so I found my way back home,
a simple path along the belt really, a dip rather than a rise at Hyades,
you’ll find me a hand-span below the Pleiades, more over your head,
one must marvel still at the intense lights of Rigel, Betelgeuse, and Sirius.
© Chagall 2015
Love you all,
have a great 2015!
Anyone know where
the after-party is?
© Chagall 2015
New Year’s Eve, I will kiss her at midnight
lips in transition – a reckoning
at the passing between two worlds
and so two times I will kiss her
though I’d be happy with any Wednesday
in May just as well.
© Chagall 2014/2015
Alphabet City 