The forecast missed her small tornadoes
she of far beyond uncharted water
right-side up the least preferred way
to travel, she’d grab my cheek to help me
to navigate warm currents among shallows
where safe is illusion cast by shoals
luminous looming jutting crags
on sky as ground, with God as witness
her hand held up to Nowhere running wild
through tiny cracks in our being

Chagall 2016

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