Some tomorrow 
I’ll be older,
around a corner
once imagined,
to be remembered. 

So that was me
I’ll think, 
looking back. 

The slow voice,
the chiding
of my own future 
tense. 

Once I felt
Myself turning,
the planet falling
In a blue globe
On a black field. 

Everywhere 
Everything 
Falling. 

All of us
Snow,
A blizzard 
Of humanity,
No two un-alike,
Unlike true snow. 

I dreamt once
I fell in a garden 
And no one was there
To hear the sound
My heart made. 

cc: Chagall, 2016