Where do the young go,
do they frolic in a new field 
warmed by an old sun,
or in aged meadows lit by now?

Everything dies, sheds skins,
to give way to the moment

Once swayed by the song,
the length of the body in dance
presses on, listens for the rhythm,
hums along 

until the tempos change

And watch as if outside-in,
themselves a third party,
a single heart
here...

From the rise that emerges there in the lowlands,
amid the mist and the faces, an outstretched hand,
a single smile, a breath, a curl, a lash, a cool smooth cheek

The incredible sensation, the surround of loving arms,
the perfect nestle of neck in neck, a race to all that is good

was once good

I know now
that blue continues
long after the eyes are gone

cc: Chagall 2021