There’s the drop – listen

Her heart opens to pour out
in minor intervals

The time after promised accord,
her hopes dressed-up like so many peacocks
leave behind embroidered whispers and pale-color feathers

Alone on a bridge

Her gaze more rapid than
the current

To submerge is to invert
ascension slowly in rivulets
without steam in cold reprise

Chagall 2017

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