I place my bookmark upside down
or right-side up, pointing front
or back, to easily resume
from where I’ve stopped,
top-left open or bottom facing
that sort of thing;
my read of you though
leaves me so
I keep my mark
on its edge.
© Chagall 2015
At the stop sign
in the tinted glass
of the hatchback
before me, reflections
of eagles flying
until the small blue
import in front proceeds,
leaving me next, alone
at the corner. I crane
to gaze out my sunroof,
a final glimpse of echelon.
© Chagall 2015
Have a great week. Hoping it’s warm where you are. —Carlos
Twice I watched her leave,
always the strange wisps vanished;
nothing to hold on.
© Chagall 2014
At least once a week, I search Google Maps,
for your house and I know it’s that day
we played hooky from work, July 2012, so hot,
the neighborhood empty and us in the backyard,
you pouring lemonade, I strumming serenades,
barefoot loungers on Barco chairs, watching the world go by,
high from the satellite’s view I zoom slowly
till I enter your heart again.
© Chagall 2015
When you’re asleep
afterglow on your face
so peculiar, remarkably
lovely
© Chagall 2015
Mopping up sprinkles on fingertips, the end of the party,
round sweet remnants, in so many colors, matched the balloons
that bobbed overhead, and I upside down on my bed
pretended to walk on the ceiling.
© Chagall 2015
It happened while looking out the window tonight,
the room light reflected on dark panes,
my nose to the glass to see outside, when I noticed
a blur of motion dancing behind me, so I pulled away,
turned and focused, no more than two or three heartbeats,
stared directly into her face, clear as the day she passed
she smiled, my reality popped, jolted by sound
like balloons exploding, and then she was gone again
© Chagall 2015
Today’s snow is like that night years ago with my Dad
under the street lamp, both on our backs looking up
making angels, I not yet ten and he near sixty,
giggling together while the flakes wet our faces,
how pink his cheeks are, how deep are his eyes
in the blue of that night.
© Chagall 2015
Atop the snow’s dappled sunspots I sleigh
solar flare speeds me downhill
I’ve a tail of ice, steam, mist
and blinding white light
© Chagall 2015
The page is parted so subtle
where once your finger touched
and I traveled, searching the meaning
of words and the lattice of white space
© Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 