The gaze paints a portrait of
you, lilac and oceanic.

Room-light a dying candle
– the last flame licked, wisps of smoke … the wick –
flutters then dies in evening wind.

The house is dark
save pinholes of stars
where once were windows.

I float here easy as I do
sand or water. Dancing
blue-white as moonlight on snow.

And everywhere, everybody, everything
seems to hum
om.

© Chagall 2016