Category: Poetry


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 Father’s Hands

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

Chagall 2020

Ci Vediamo

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

E Lucevan Le Stelle

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

Dark Screens

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

Psalm 18

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

3 – No 4! – Wishes

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

Blessed Slip

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

Ancient Philadelphia

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

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