Low stars
Bright moonlight
in the dark garden
Running downhill
breathless in the cold night
turning to first kiss you
Chagall 2017
Low stars
Bright moonlight
in the dark garden
Running downhill
breathless in the cold night
turning to first kiss you
Chagall 2017
The hummingbirds of summer are gone
now suddenly
Chagall 2017
Nothing to say today; the sweetness of the air does suffice
Sugary cool waters I gulp, I breathe briskly – it’s cold
But I am still warm so I exhale the mist that mimics my shape
I am there in the wind’s disentangling
Chagall 2017
516: The inflexibility of myopic points-of-view
interferes with the achievement of nuanced perfection.
517: #42 should be retired from all sports.
Chagall 2017
I remember saying Dad, you want a half-and-half?
And he joked You don’t know how to make a half-and-half
And I said Absolutely! I got stout and ale and I even got pretzels
He said Yeah? We had two each. It was a wonderful day.
Chagall 2017
The edge of each business card
contained DNA.
Chagall 2017
When getting mind-fucked
is one obliged to come?
Chagall 2017
My Art of Drowning splayed pages-down to On Turning Ten
A cursive vee from damp and settling she coaxes back to book-form
Chagall 2017
The arc of my float,
over the village,
a shallow parabola,
steady, deliberate
Pan on a taut guide,
level with those in the loge.
No one flies like this these days,
not like this anymore;
jump, trust, merge into updraft,
simple flip-gravity, easier to float
if you close your eyes.
How I love ascension,
my body carved, massages the flight:
Victory winged at Samothrace.
I’m young and crazed,
a romantic in the gondola, a pied balloon,
throwing out ballast to rise!
At night, low altitude,
I cherish the sight, your fires,
you hovered in the round,
my vantage point just above
tops of pines that surround.
Your laughter draws me,
I lower the flame,
I settle down,
pilot to a spot
right about where you sit.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Earth’s mantle
The regolith upon which I stand
Whisperers
in the niche of meadows
Eternal rain
deliriously hydrous
Intracellular
Briskly flow my rivers
Thought is sediment
The banks of life
Still
I will
Craft castles
Chagall 2017