on a line by the rocks
I hang my socks to dry
stomping in puddles of warm rain
has become my latest passion
despite it being out of fashion
for any person my age

between two chairs I drape the shawl
my Mother swaddled me in, to make a fort
to keep me safe, to shield me from the storm;
any port

tiny cereal boxes and a stack of comic books so high
will keep me amused throughout the day
come whatever may or may not

April showers somewhere, and someday June is married
with breathless guests along the aisle
strewn with roses and lavender
but not today

in the loft an elderly paisana sings
as she did from that balcony high over Nola
her song to the fields of lilies below

the cymbals crash,
the leader of the feast bellows
A zo ta zo!
and we lift the Gigli high
on our shoulders

with God on our backs
high atop this obelisk
the world is plain in view

barefoot she runs through
rain-streaked streets near Naples
belly distended, the brio of youth fast behind her

with a blanket drawn about her
nowhere bound

Chagall 2020