She said You have a good ear
My mind choked on the flood
of potential and witty retorts
Instead all I said was Thank You
Chagall 2015
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slow moving clouds golden linings frilly peach
white edges glide through blue sky
i dance like a zephyr
in treetops i listen
frosted wintry stars
ancient calls to yonder
window breaks she reaches
my hand slips she falls
falling backwards
in midair
float
gently
down
to
the ground
Chagall 2015
And when he leaves she finds small gifts
tucked away, odd corners
nonpareils
cherries
bittersweet sandies
Chagall 2015
Intrigued, I asked her
could I peek behind the veil.
She obliged.
I’ve been immobile
since.
Condemned
to a single thought.
Intrigued, I had asked her.
Chagall 2015
Hey, don’t look at me
if you don’t know how
to use the ingredient
My taste tests
are pretty fine
Chagall 2015
A shooting star
twilit celestial filaments
across my lashes no longer than half-an-inch
yet up there the fantail of light
is twice many billion miles
nearer than your lips and heart
to mine.
We caress at time’s edge
under corona, or maybe it’s umbra
but who’s to say?
Steady pulse
of shade to light
shadow to crown and
you to rain.
We are leaves invert
we are tips of roots
we are that from which all is derived
we are constellations.
We have begat
the universe
that which is
out there
is small.
Chagall 2015
The faster I plunge
the better I feel.
Getting dizzy near blackout?
Shut down.
Chagall 2015
Wielding the pen is the poem
is it not?
That we are at all
more ponderous
than why.
Tell me again what I’ll tell you,
I never grow tired of hearing.
You arrive before that which precedes me,
such is my life, these latent neurons.
And love?
Rain, alchemy, inevitable parting,
the last touch of fingertips in a crowd.
The sweet and sour and salt of you –
such a heady bouquet.
Chagall 2015
I thought I’d express it all in one breath
simply stream out all thoughts sans stops
But I faltered and fell on my face again
seems the usual fare these days
Spare a trifle my friend for a stanza or two
there I go again – nursery rhymes
Half the time I search for
the next time; absent yet deeply
not there
God, there’s ice chips everywhere!
Chagall 2015
