the streets are empty, but difficult to navigate
with the piles of dreams left at the curb
for Monday pickup

ticker-tape confetti parades of digital photos torn in cyber space,
an iTunes chorus eternally repeats

till the juice dies
the time flies
nay – it zooms

everywhere everything falls
streaming frenzied spawns
against the current, across the grain

in the end I’ll remember the warm rain
hand-in-hand in puddles with you

(remember reading the world was mud-luscious?)

but now I pray
for the third day

the spirit committed
the return uncertain

Chagall 2020