A lion on a balustrade
balanced against all odds
slip sliding away

On a pedestal shorter than the tall stack
paddy-whack, in search for dog bones
here in the litter

What you make it is how it’s made
the stuff of space and in-between

Your smile there in the gaps diffracted
along the lines of so many prisms
charms more than shards

Reflecting what’s overhead:
to fall is to float

An archangel at triumphant arcs
arching, finding the longest path
to home

You’ll stay and
blue skies will go away

Chagall 2017