Alphabet City

Segovia on vinyl, even as
the slight hiss of dust 
passes under the needle,
still is sublime

cc: CC ‘23

I save the streamers from today’s party, so I have something to wave 
in tomorrow’s wind

cc: CC ‘23

I want to be around 
at 107, still on the dial
like an FM station,
albeit with reception
slightly spotty

cc: Chagall ‘23

What startle - frighten most
are fragments of me I glimpse 
in reflecting surfaces
around

cc: CC ‘22

Think
the bottom
light

cc: CC ‘22

On Christmas Eve,
my prayers - my heart -  to those 
in the eye of Blitzen

For timing 
is surprise is 
everything

cc: CC '22

If my Grandfathers
Mike and Carmine
were still alive I
would buy us all
matching flannel shirts
to wear this Christmas Eve

cc: Chagall '22 

My grandmother who has passed, has taken over my body to execute her Christmas recipes

There in the beveled corners of the old glass panes
and splayed upon the sills, tiny rainbows everyday

cc: CC '22

The wind-chime alerts me
to the presence of zephyrs
breezes there in the moment
present anon and shortly
thereafter I am whisked
past treetops to the very top
of a world turned turvy-topsy a
tourist at low altitude a
one person echelon I party on
linger on I cruise there but 
not missile more like
a small bird on a gentle bank
across a yard a Spring or Summer 
or an Autumn day for it's not Winter yet 
and of course there is Sun and of
course there's dew it's morning time 
for air to move the music, stir the heart

cc: CC '22