There, what I originally mistook
to be leaves on the winter trees,
is instead a gaggle of geese so very high away,
smaller than a tenth of my thumb,
between sunlight and shadow
depending on their yaw, appearing attached
to the splay of branch tips that emanate
from barren maples.
© Chagall 2016
If you – my student –
go forward to do great things,
come back for me, take me along for the ride.
© Chagall 2016
If I took all those moments and ran them as a reel
– a film rather a dance – what would they amount to
in grams on ethereal scales how much would they weigh?
© Chagall 2016
Gravity or intent
drives the hand
down
© Chagall 2016
To hold
more than
have to hold.
© Chagall 2016
Still here.
I and the air are
still here.
Faint hum,
a seashore … a dynamo
maybe.
Tickles:
inside my head.
A hushed voice speaks
of a hushed voice
who speaks.
I command them both
to shush.
© Chagall 2016
Please accept this filament fine,
as I spun it just for you.
The silk that silk envies weaves
a gentle lattice about nothing.
No breeze stirs you suspended
on girders above trip-wire.
Speak! cries out in need
to fill space.
At the end, even now
we can still hear it echo.
© Chagall 2016
Stars are formed in clouds
Of gas and dust, nebulae
Nuclear at core
Stars provide enough
Energy brightly for years
The exact lifetime
We are born of stars
So proud until we pulsar
When fusion ceases
Eons erase hope
What once would light forever
Turns to gamma ray
© Chagall 2016
What I thought was one of
the black butterflies of summer
was instead a tiny bird.
© Chagall 2016
I don’t even like pea pods
so stop saving them
for me.
© Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 