there are countless stars,
each moment a new one appears
as its light completes the journey
of light-years to my retina
makes itself known
first upside down
till the optic nerve
makes it right
at the same time, another star dies,
collapses on itself of its own making,
mass so dense – earth the size of a pebble
no longer at that point
of our realm
there are countless moments
Chagall 2020
the streets are empty, but difficult to navigate
with the piles of dreams left at the curb
for Monday pickup
ticker-tape confetti parades of digital photos torn in cyber space,
an iTunes chorus eternally repeats
till the juice dies
the time flies
nay – it zooms
everywhere everything falls
streaming frenzied spawns
against the current, across the grain
in the end I’ll remember the warm rain
hand-in-hand in puddles with you
(remember reading the world was mud-luscious?)
but now I pray
for the third day
the spirit committed
the return uncertain
Chagall 2020
maybe the world’s hatred manifests as virus,
the reaping of what is sown, after all
these follow the seasons
just like
crops
Chagall 2020
to the man behind the camera
who captured all my sunny daze,
the moments for which I’d be
most proud
who knew enough
to put it down when I needed more
with a mystique still
such that I question ever having known him,
his ever having been at all
so fleeting are the days
these days
Chagall 2020
I told her to forget about the electric guitars,
bring only the acoustics with nylon strings,
along with the beans, the millet, the jerky
And your great-grandmother’s Caruso records?
she asked
Where we were heading, there would be no technology,
no way to ever hear again the century-old sounds
So I said
Take those, leave half the rounds of ammo behind
Chagall 2020 – E non ho amato mai tanto la vita
under the blankets
deep dark, thick air
I burrow,
search for a heartbeat
once there
I feel
the earth in freefall
the ground rushes up
gravity pours down
heavier today
(in the home movie she is young again, runs with her kite,
the long string trails behind her, goes from slack to taut,
she laughs with each lift off the ground, in flight
sometimes for only a moment, the tail gracefully arcs,
banking on an old wind)
Chagall 2020
with my bible and the Book of Chords
I hunker down to write new psalms
praise to the unfailing mountains,
the rocks, the fortress, the deliverer
the chords of death encompass me
as I reel and rock these nights away
the brightness of the day turns dark
in a rain of guided arrows
I brace my body against the stone
reaching up, no rope just hope to guide me
a mere piton slip away from the fall
and we are rewarded
according to the cleanness of our hands
blameless and righteous
for real, humble
for whom is a rock
Chagall 2020
I wish I could stop running
hot water all over my hands
to wash away the tiny invaders
I wish I could stop caring
about who is breathing
down my neck and in my space
I wish the most important item
on my shopping list was once again
confetti non-pareils
I wish you all health and safety
for you and loved ones
Chagall 2020
English as her second language,
she told me that she heard
the immortality rate was very high
I whispered to myself
that I certainly hoped so
Chagall 2020
we the first born of the recently dead
kneel before her
in her eyes are seven stars
beholden to only She
oldest blue sky lost
in lakes of glass
where rainbows crystallize
at the instep of an amber foot
with those there
I take no exception
hear that?
the clarion call
Chagall 2020
