I am obsessed and compulsed to consume
inordinate amounts of mint chocolate chip
anything really. I am wholly hooked.
© Chagall 2016
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Halve it thrice if eight’s
what you’re looking for.
© Chagall 2016
There at the end of
the garden are all of
the seasons’ lessons
to be learned
So let’s Us harvest
– for unless we harvest …
© Chagall 2016
The bug in the berry was
surprisingly deliciously
salty.
© Chagall 2016
Like air
it’s everywhere
you breathe
Morning is life
as much as light
polishes
Now seems
to work best
at times
But i don’t know what
i don’t know – is it only
martini? (i could – as you suggest –
rhyme that with blini)
A kiss for any monday
appears on your lips
till our lips meet yet again tomorrow
How pregnant
the pause and i am
postpartum
Now indeed seems
to work best
all the time
© Chagall, 2016
Sweet potato by Melissa drying
together in one heap.
I make a one-cup dough everyday,
roll it or fill it.
We’ve seawater still on our fingertips,
a crust of hot crystal salt.
I’m different – you said,
through the open window – I’m the one looking up.
You were late. I watched you gather lilac and lace
by the unlatched gate.
Your breathing stills matter about the fire,
all being is cured aromatic.
And so able to last
forever.
© Chagall 2016
Advance humbly;
we all were once
squiggly beings.
© Chagall 2016
The gaze paints a portrait of
you, lilac and oceanic.
Room-light a dying candle
– the last flame licked, wisps of smoke … the wick –
flutters then dies in evening wind.
The house is dark
save pinholes of stars
where once were windows.
I float here easy as I do
sand or water. Dancing
blue-white as moonlight on snow.
And everywhere, everybody, everything
seems to hum
om.
© Chagall 2016
Maybe just nature
More than anything demands
Love, respect, our fear
© Chagall 2016
Conflicted today about what to write:
a new star born in the stingray nebula or
my father and I in a photo younger
than my children are today.
Astronomers say the star expanded due to a helium flash,
“…back to giant dimensions: the born again scenario.”
Through the Hubble telescope I can see my dad
swim upon ripples of time, breathe between strokes,
expertly gulping air.
Suns by day are stars by night depending where you are.
© Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 