It happened while looking out the window tonight,
the room light reflected on dark panes,
my nose to the glass to see outside, when I noticed
a blur of motion dancing behind me, so I pulled away,
turned and focused, no more than two or three heartbeats,
stared directly into her face, clear as the day she passed
she smiled, my reality popped, jolted by sound
like balloons exploding, and then she was gone again
© Chagall 2015
Today’s snow is like that night years ago with my Dad
under the street lamp, both on our backs looking up
making angels, I not yet ten and he near sixty,
giggling together while the flakes wet our faces,
how pink his cheeks are, how deep are his eyes
in the blue of that night.
© Chagall 2015
Atop the snow’s dappled sunspots I sleigh
solar flare speeds me downhill
I’ve a tail of ice, steam, mist
and blinding white light
© Chagall 2015
The page is parted so subtle
where once your finger touched
and I traveled, searching the meaning
of words and the lattice of white space
© Chagall 2015
they say they play jazz – or so they say; more kenny g, not Bird who’s soaring,
’cause that’s what they heard; in pink silks, in morning mist, at daybreak, all splendor,
at twilight, in indigo, round and round, I go so deep in a dizzy, and now She’s saying
with Her back turned, all this and heaven; primally perfect – all this Jazz.
© Chagall 2015
In emoticons we’ve driven
past LoLs and pensive ellipses
we’ve elided and skirted the truth
’cause brevity’s better, YKWIM?
I tap and bouquets appear amidst snowmen
who melt . . . batt’ry low . . . fade away
© Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 