Alphabet City

Birds flutter 
motionless 
in flight
the world turns quickly 
to make it appear 
they are flying

cc: Chagall 2021

Weep for all the damaged,
this normal state of being,
a pretense of perfection,
the epitome of petty hubris,
corporeal preference,
outpaced spirit

Live 
where you are 
when you are
who you are

Breathe enough
for your mind 
to space, freely 
roam

Unplug,
sever the tether,
rise above
inclement
weather

Atop clouds 
go cast ground shadows

Be light airily, 
imperfectly
human

cc: Chagall 2021

I cry at the shatter,
my make-believe worlds
strewn about, chains of colorful 
toys on the ground

I crawl in anguish
for arms to raise me up
to hold me high overhead,
my back to the sky, the warm sun
secure in the loving nestle 
between cheek and shoulder

lost without words,
buoyed on this ocean,
your face with every bob
above waves

you are beautiful
beaded in water
and the world is
wonderful for I am
of you

(thank you for 
not letting me drown)

cc: Chagall 2021

Consider that we rotate
into beams of starlight,
they are always there
while we are not 

phantom pinholes dance 
as night settles, as stars shine 
certain in darkness we know 
where but not when

even in day
we are bathed 
in starnight

with each moment we leave what was
to catch up ahead, plain to see absent the light

I once shone down from the space behind,
to illuminate from atop and I can attest
that there are no wires

just zephyrs 
and complicit meadow sprites,
as good reasons as any
in the low moss 
and creeping 
thyme

at the base of the blades of grass 
where traces of moon yet are found 

cc: Chagall 2021

Rather than go to war,
I would wear heavy sweaters,
wouldn't you?

Look at woolly you!

cc: Chagall 2021

The spirit of my dad helped me today,
and I responded by telling him I would
send a crisp gin and tonic his way, and 
he smiled down on me, and I said, 
I will send 2, one for you and one for John,
my father-in-law passed, and then I said 3, 
one for Uncle Rocco, and another for Aunt Aida, 
and two for each Aunt Millie, and Mom, and Cousin Joe, 
and then I lost count

I'll just keep sending up shakers and lime
until you tell me enough

I hear a Hurrah
at the tip of my 
crisp, tart knowing
they're there

Salud, old friends

cc: Chagall 2021