So when we can take a pill
to alter at will
ethnicity and race,
then what will we fight about?
© Chagall 2016
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In the subtle shift from
mimicry to knowing,
I dives deeper to be
among the weeds. Otherwise
I hovers.
© Chagall 2016
The lights are going out,
not forever – just for now.
We have coffee and tea,
we can make bread if need be,
sing, play cards …
Only for a little while,
only just for now.
© Chagall 2016
There, what I originally mistook
to be leaves on the winter trees,
is instead a gaggle of geese so very high away,
smaller than a tenth of my thumb,
between sunlight and shadow
depending on their yaw, appearing attached
to the splay of branch tips that emanate
from barren maples.
© Chagall 2016
If you – my student –
go forward to do great things,
come back for me, take me along for the ride.
© Chagall 2016
If I took all those moments and ran them as a reel
– a film rather a dance – what would they amount to
in grams on ethereal scales how much would they weigh?
© Chagall 2016
Gravity or intent
drives the hand
down
© Chagall 2016
To hold
more than
have to hold.
© Chagall 2016
Still here.
I and the air are
still here.
Faint hum,
a seashore … a dynamo
maybe.
Tickles:
inside my head.
A hushed voice speaks
of a hushed voice
who speaks.
I command them both
to shush.
© Chagall 2016
Please accept this filament fine,
as I spun it just for you.
The silk that silk envies weaves
a gentle lattice about nothing.
No breeze stirs you suspended
on girders above trip-wire.
Speak! cries out in need
to fill space.
At the end, even now
we can still hear it echo.
© Chagall 2016
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