and I have nothing to say today,
at least – my friend – nothing old

nothing to calm or sedate you,
no tried nor true bromide to take twice today

a new recurring thought
grinds its gears in my mind

ceaselessly whispers
there beneath the garden’s din

bids me to enter,
its finger to its lips to shush me

furtive glances about
to assure no one is watching

a doorman at a speakeasy,
the guard at the shooting gallery

an open mind is the password
that enables entry

once inside you find yourself
outside, everywhere

in every face,
every flower

oddly, there is a wind that blows even here,
at the speed of gale force, carries us away

erases us, despite any desire on our part
for it not to

Chagall 2020