I talk to myself of late,
Hey you kids, get out of that yard
I scream

Little do I know that I am the one here to frolic,
to ramble among the emerging marigolds

There are no words to describe this sun
on dewy grass, the sense of timeless morning

Time to idle, to while away, to bask…luxuriate!…
to immerse myself as if breathing underwater,
I swallow passing moments like amniotic droplets,
the sensual tug of the cord coaxes, connects me to knowing

I’m warning you, get out of that garden!

In peace I bring the old man a bouquet,
small trumpets of bougainvillea and tatted breath of babies,
the lace of Queen Anne twined about a sprig of evergreen,
a tad of the flutter of damselfly wing

In peace I come,
soon I shall take my leave

Chagall 2020