I continue to search for soft wind
to blow the gentler spirals that were once
aloft above metropolis, pinwheels of fallen dreams
so many ticks on the tape ago, confetti
don’t rain on her parade though it pours on mine
and she and I have no umbrella, just tiny Chinese
parasols we grip between our teeth
to shelter our hearts from the storms approaching,
eddies, torrents, and twisters, so difficult
near impossible, to steal a kiss this way.

Chagall 2015

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