I wish I had stared at your face more,
seen sunlight refract to coax your colors
at every turn of the day, your image
failing my memory despite years
of having thought I saw
I will imagine starlight in your eyes tonight,
the play of shadow on your cheek,
the dark hollow of your neck,
as if I nestle there
I regret not having shaped my life
to behold you
Chagall 2019
I walk the long corridor, endless really,
not recognizing any of the writing on the doors,
the characters seemingly shift shape,
I’m unsure they’re even permanently etched,
fade in and out, light gray on gray,
the doors themselves without uniformity,
each a different size, no proportion,
without implication of what lies behind,
beyond
Chagall 2019
Pickle bottling day
with its tickling motley way
makes us happy
Chagall 2019
above the din
a calm
I ascend
to encounter
up!
float airily
Chagall 2019
Someone cooking with almond flour,
or marzipan, or maybe
cyanide.
Chagall 2019
So many good things come from the dregs,
croutons – for instance.
Chagall 2019
Chagall 2019
I watch carefully as form inverts
along the optic nerve to become
a weight of the heart, life between pages,
a boutonniere for the mind
Chagall 2019
I can be your pruner baby,
come display the roses
Chagall 2019
Consider that I cherish you all,
this love of many colors
Chagall 2019
Alphabet City 