Grapes still on their vine
flourish for the wines
we did not drink
Sun-sweetened raisins
in time
© Chagall 2014
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The tears of poplars, amber
apathy is typical. This stage
a torched pine smell when rubbed
progressively dementia
millions of years old, trapped in fossil resins
turns eighty tomorrow. Usually neurons will fire
© Chagall 2014
Fine-grade Turquoise, tumble finished
as a young girl she’d nestle
winds on the surface
French for Turkish, you know
she grew older, released
light chemical elements
even the finest is fracturable
© Chagall 2014
Lean in.
Hear the whispers?
© Chagall 2014
Recruiter asked what job do I want
I said CTFO
she said wha’?
I said chill the f**k out
© Chagall 2014
In February 1987
before she passed, I asked her to narrate her recipes
and I would scribe.
To the day almost
these decades later, family is over and I cook her favorites
almost to a tee.
Our love
that winter dormant for so long returns
emerges as seedlings.
© Chagall 2014
pearled, blew on pink
lips drawn slowly
recede. Delicate press
cracks, the strung bow
perceived motion
stopping here
each lash unique
so clearly discerned
© Chagall 2014
appear like droplets of mercury
the you at the door
one stands out, lush and
the you now
appear to be smaller drops within
all is flux
begins a gradual
not the same final day
slide from the leaf
you know me then
simply changed place
there on the blades
of grass. Again, a single bead
where I’ve gone
but wonder
© Chagall 2014
Upside down, keep shaking the droplets
from the jar, let gravity get
all that it can, before you apply
the towel
© Chagall 2014
Old yellow wall phone in the kitchen
first time I smoked
a salt-water pool
she leans out the window
almost choked
smell of fries
rotary dial sound like roulette
her lashes caught fire
a dot on the water while we watched
hung clothes with it cradled at her neck
nothing like the first taste
salt and malt vinegar
assenting, rarely saying anything
Marlboro Reds
bus fumes at Port Authority
think it was Helen from next door
yellow stains
kissed her, the band shell
you too, love you
the next day I bummed another
dark ride, Palisades breezes
home
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 