Alphabet City

Some seeds display
erratic behavior
rather inconsistency
in their rate of sprout
with respect to time –
how long – and volume –
how many, more specifically
the percentage coming through

I treat such seeds with mild disdain
jostling their incubators and
peat pellet packs, perturbations
surely their style, nothing regular
about the routine I provide, rotating
to sun, shade to moist, dry
to mist, drench to relaxed bouts
on cedar planks, cool porches after
hot days, the deck still radiant with heat
photons captured their pulse eager
to tell of where they’ve been, places
they hope to see

The seeds, perhaps seedlings now, asleep atop this cooling bed
dream on behalf of light emanating underneath as heat

Into the earth on a vision quest
for hydrogen-oxygen-carbon – even more sunlight
color minerals, trace elements, the spectrum
proxy for the union of unnamed things

Inconceivably there are no more miles…

Keep moving
we must follow
every drop of ray
must fall – alight
make truer yet
the glow of our skins

we are all
beautiful people
in sunset

tomorrows
wax deliciously
like sunrise – all new days

that’s what hope
looks like blind
faith keeps coming
long the day after

angle me so
I can watch
the last fade
of the light

Chagall 2016

Darkness.

The air is cool,
a powder-blue spot
soaks the black
with hush.

The sharp rap of heels
across the stage,
picked up by the mic as I near.

No one.

The hall is empty,
save the light-man
and me.

Dance.

Arms and legs cross,
I carve graceful lines,
pirouette.

And rest.

Darkness,
the air is cool . . .

© Carlos Chagall, 2013