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
As a child I could project myself to the tops of tall trees
I would search out the highest point of the canopy and imagine
The world from that vantage
My wings would ache
To fly down to me
Looking up
Instead I’d turn
My sideways glance
To the sky
As a bird I would project myself to the lowest clouds
I would search out the thinnest white line and imagine
The heavens from that vantage
My wings still ache
From ascension
Chagall ∞
To the birds outside my window today
I am the object behind the screen
Chagall ∞
An enthusiastic reader of blogs attempts to engage with the blogger
via comments, fills the space with her wisdom,
cites resonance with the themes, probes,
intellectually touches potential hot spots,
only to be responded to with a trite
Thank you for sharing
Shoot the load, one and done.
© Chagall ∞
Tendrils girdle, torso, bracchia,
anxiety manifests, parted seas close,
I prefer to be cleaved to channel pervasive winds,
a feeling named, neurosis in situ, otherwise benign,
despair unnamed is more easily thwarted, a mystery
even to itself
© Chagall ∞
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
Moonlight holds
dark milligrams,
pentagrams of photons
dispossessed, lost;
I witness the diaspora
of light. Darkness veils
as deafness, no evil
nor good when there is no need,
when eyes become superfluous.
© Chagall ∞
If my fate is to die by falling, let it be
Down weathered steps over the dunes to the beach
© Chagall ∞
I was your sister, you were older, I listened,
I thought you knew things I might need to know
even though you often said so very little, and
in the end I want you to know I will miss you,
I am younger, oddly no wiser, I regret you not
having known me better, as I you.
© Chagall ∞
I utter the unspeakable in order
to definitively convey that aspect of it
yet I do not suffer consequences. We are
bewildered – what to do, where to go from here.
I am nothing but eyes amid the sensation of a swing aloft
in a ceaselessly sunny sky, my shoelaces are green
but I am otherwise awash in primary color, yellow
and red are my glow amid her cooler blue.
Sky as thick or thin as I like it, in doughy gulps
or wispy cold streams. She could float upon oceans for hours
never to sink through salt water.
She’d swim away out beyond
where I’d imagined
the breakers would be.
© Chagall ∞
