Alphabet City

Evening, the dog circles maniacally, fixed on the scent of our garden rabbits,
fireflies light up around us, bedazzle in slow sensuous glow – so close,
the grass and clover are longer here in the back, more lush underfoot,
I do not know what is beyond the surround of trees about us

My mind is the rich green of forests, more evergreen than lime,
heathered with blue

The storm is coming, ocean air from far away,
treks hundreds of miles in hours, to adorn our impending night
with mysterious aromas, spicy and minty, perhaps freedom’s spirit

The dog gently pulls me uphill in a slow jog,
my ascent is eased by her effort, she anticipates the darkness,
already hears the distant thunder

At the crest of the rise, with night now certain,
we are surrounded – in a deep field of twinkle –
in awe amid the throbbing bioluminescent,
the rabbits far behind us

Chagall 2020

Do you think any folk
from the Baroque
era liked
bebop?

could
Kind of Blue
have been birthed
in 1659?

hell
no

they didn’t even
have vinyl yet

Chagall 2020

I used to have brain cells galore
…no more.

Chagall 2020

I am precisely like a halo,
a tight haze about you, more
than any hand is
to glove

My love

Any sock is
to foot

My cute
one

Almost in rhymes
is like a leaner
in horseshoes

Spiraling metal omega-shaped shoes,
flung from the hand

…ping against posts stuck in sand

Chagall 2020

Do not mistake my sorrow over your unhappiness as love

Love would provoke me to engage and care, while
unhappiness beget by unhappiness stirs me more
to look the other way, to leave, to seek joy so great
that once in heart it overcomes any doubt about leaving

Having left now, I am not so certain

There must be more than a shared sadness
over a plight mistaken as inevitable

Find your garden and dwell there
with a handful of persons you love,
pass the days, savor each hour,
every breath – exhale always
with the next inhale
in mind

Chagall 2020

To think
ultimately
satisfies
more than
to write

Chagall 2020

I love the sound of propeller planes overhead,
the simple promise of flight in that sawtooth stutter,
from behind clouds, pledges blue sky – nothing but! –
for the rest of the yellow afternoon

you and I are
balloons

we dive from a wing onto freshly baked air,
it will hold us as far as we’ll go,
stretched out wide, we glide away,
aloft, astride shimmers of light

like haze from below
the friendly wind rises
to carry us home despite
not knowing the way
we relinquish ourself

there – see it…
the lamp in your window!

we fly so low
I can see the lovers so
plainly below
as evening enters by porchlight
…and I wave

Chagall 2020

Use the ennui of prolonged aspiration
as the impetus to finally break through

think plainly,
speak plainly,
write plainly,
play plainly

Chagall 2020

Watch yourself – curve ahead,
each step random unplanned,
plenty of mud to step in
yet, you bet

A short skip over the gap
and we’re on our way,
careful – it’s a steep hill down

We kick up dirt and gravel

On level ground, grass worn thin,
thick privet all around, a simple maze
meant to divert, not baffle

Let us proceed

A simple right-left
and we’re through

Chagall 2020
Photo by Andru00e9 Cook on Pexels.com

butterflies upon stalks of rye grass,
vibrant, wag their wings

impatiens children tap their petals
open-and-shut

a slow flutter
(with little risk
of sudden snow flurry)

deep in the heart of summer
amid merry smells, sights

sad sounds

a calliope razed to the ground here,
but its lilt is always on lips, melodious whistles,
bounce low, ride high, carousel horses
go giddy up and around

Chagall 2020