Tendrils girdle, torso, bracchia,
anxiety manifests, parted seas close,
I prefer to be cleaved to channel pervasive winds,
a feeling named, neurosis in situ, otherwise benign,
despair unnamed is more easily thwarted, a mystery
even to itself
© Chagall ∞
Darkness.
The air is cool,
a powder-blue spot
soaks the black
with hush.
The sharp rap of heels
across the stage,
picked up by the mic as I near.
No one.
The hall is empty,
save the light-man
and me.
Dance.
Arms and legs cross,
I carve graceful lines,
pirouette.
And rest.
Darkness,
the air is cool . . .
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Moonlight holds
dark milligrams,
pentagrams of photons
dispossessed, lost;
I witness the diaspora
of light. Darkness veils
as deafness, no evil
nor good when there is no need,
when eyes become superfluous.
© Chagall ∞
If my fate is to die by falling, let it be
Down weathered steps over the dunes to the beach
© Chagall ∞
I was your sister, you were older, I listened,
I thought you knew things I might need to know
even though you often said so very little, and
in the end I want you to know I will miss you,
I am younger, oddly no wiser, I regret you not
having known me better, as I you.
© Chagall ∞
Alphabet City 