I felt
her kiss
even through
the bandage.
© Chagall 2015
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When we were young
the tables filled
with faces eternally
upturned to grace,
but now we dance
in starlight wan
ever quiet.
© Chagall 2015
This post comprises 3 separate haiku. It is a reblog from May, 2015.
Peace and love to all. —CC
1
Songbird calls two tones
Lilts sadly this crisp morning
Beckons from treetops
2
High, a breath, swoop low
I respond then flap my wings
Perched beside my love
3
Memory of flight
Overcomes me so I soar
Guiding her back home
© Chagall 2015
Bodies strewn
all about,
the echoes
of bossa nova.
© Chagall 2015
The smell of caramel and burnt hair everywhere.
Damn, I’m good in bed!
© Chagall 2015
If I’d known the pages were there
I’d have read them, odd how my story
worked better not knowing.
© Chagall 2015
Hey you chasing wisps tonight, so lucky the clouds hang low
in bitterwarm air so easy to fly when it’s like this.
You see me there, hover just over
the rooftop, below you I wave in wan moonlight.
I was once on a sea that was lit like this,
so many moons and just enough time to crest every one.
I love you, you know.
© Chagall 2015
The doctor says she sees Q-Waves
there on my EKG, usually a sign
something bad has happened
to one’s heart. I tell her that
they’re probably there to say hello
to that day you went away. Now may I
put my blouse on?
© Chagall 2015
Happy Friday All. —Chagall
She wears different faces for me, primal postures on black surround
a fan-dancer, angles arms and legs, in time she forms tomorrows
less certain than days gone by that certainly seemed more certain
As a human I pray but I’m open
if you think there’s a better way
She’s human too – I’m reminded, her heart beats to break, pink stars in brisk gravity
she’s crushed given time and grace, to love her is so precisely weightlessness
so we hold onto updrafts and breathe, waft about and soar in deep essing swoops
bank steep, Godspeed to the outskirts
cold air, lavender tinder, where the softest touch is all it takes
to let go
© Chagall 2013
Pretty pictures inside my head
stop me from seeing the beauty without,
there where the actual lies, beyond the real
where I’ve occasion to wander rarely,
but now it’s a different story.
© Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 