I said
While our styles differ,
you, the earthly sublime,
I, the absurdly surreal…
she finished
…we ultimately say the same thing
Chagall 2019
Archive for December, 2019
at night, next to you
in bed, lights out,
in total darkness,
I listen to hear
you breathe, so alone
I feel, I wonder
if you are really there
under the blankets,
someday I know
the silence will go
unbroken
Chagall 2019
perfectly flawed
we are
each unique
delectable circles
of candy beaded
strung and strummed on strings
of life
long and strong
may you live
my friends
Chagall 2019
In a bedroom dark
the outline of our window
lies there on the quilt
perfectly etched in moonlight
a portal to another world
I’m certain
as I sidle a-rump over
drop myself into its panes
and free fall
into the down of time
I see you there on the other side
peering through the glass
above me, only stars
have had this vantage
love’s a sill
on which I rest
between bouts
of such rapid descent
entangled
in velvet curtain stays
you used to draw
the light in
On my side it’s cold
but I’m too far away
for my breath to fog
the glass
Dashed hopes
for finger-traced hearts
and comic book Eros
You recede
you’re a constellation
whose shape takes form more clearly
as distance grows between us
I can see you now
the epitome of what
you’ve purported to be
all along
My love, my discovery
so I believe I’ve the right
– perhaps I’m even obliged –
to name you
The slightest tear in the moonlight
leaves jagged cracks
with each daybreak I lose forever
my best and only way back
Chagall 2013/2019
Reblogged this from Paul F. Lenzi, who passed in July of 2018. Merry Christmas, Paul. —CC
“O Little Town of Bethlehem” by Carol Sheli Cantrell
bright Bethlehem star
who pierced the longest dark night
hopeful newborn light
showed the path to redemption
for those souls brave in their faith
I can sense the shape of the wing
that my skeletal frame would require
to sustain flight
Like the memory of a limb after having been severed
I can still feel
I can still itch
I can still clench
I have flown
So many times that
my memory of each
runs together
such that I and I
are in echelon
From the tops of these trees
the city peers back with a lazy eye
and a sprawling lack of focus
A string of lights at the border
is sequenced in series to appear to cascade
first up then down, in so many colors
It is dark and I lose myself
in the surround of the night
Heavy birds weigh down branches, honed in on
the tip of balance just before snapping,
I sneeze and startle them all away
The moment you relax deeply and securely
into the updraft, you’ll begin to ride the scree
remember – hang low in the pocket
and let the flexible tension that is arced around you
the buoyancy that is, of wind rushing the fine cilia
about you, spread under light and sky in full spanned glory,
take you ever higher to loftier aerie
to thin and rarefied air
Chagall 2014/2019
my mom passed 25 years ago today,
I was so much younger then
I had to drive that morning to see her
already gone
on the car radio one of her favorite songs
oh babe, hurricane smith
…just to walk with you along the Milky Way …
the doctor says she’s in a better place
I get angry and say I don’t think so
her feet were the softest they had ever been,
cleared finally after years of poor circulation
the day before she makes a joke
about the Exit sign, winks and blows a kiss my way
decades
and my heart is still broken
Chagall 2019
To kisses I prefer
the intertwine of long necklines,
feline stretches to caress the curve
Chagall 2019
From where are we all equidistant?
At the grand scale we blur, become one,
indivisible, particles elementary
But at the grandest scale – the end of the day,
we appear to exist no longer
Chagall 2019
Alphabet City 