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2 Cents Nutshell

Sentience is God, thought is time, 
we cannot grasp how vast either is
because we are 
both 

Oddly,
whether you believe
God is or God isn't...
you end up here

(sung to the tune of All Or Nothing At All)

cc: Chagall 2022

Filament

At times, I miss the living
as much as those who've passed

cc: Chagall 2022

Sometimes Fusilli

Though slight, 
petite, the road 
through her stomach
led to her heart, 
oh, how she loved
my bucatini carbonara

cc: Chagall 2022

Beautiful Rotation

The heathered pink and blue of
this dying winter's day, reminds me
joy is tinged with sadness, 
while love and sorrow be
a singularity

How the trees' wood turns golden 
in the gloaming!

We of the canopy there
in the dying light, hereby...

Stripped branches like veins
reach to the indigo, 
as much above ground now
as rooted below

Stars be our blanket,
protect us from the wind
till dewy 'morrow

cc: Chagall 2022 
I retrace the lines
Gray faded handwritten note
Deep crease through her heart

cc: Chagall 2022

A Foot Maybe More

I tell her
it's starting to snow
she says
it suffices to say snow falling
I kiss her and ask
why not then simply snowfall?
she closes her eyes, whispers
maybe just snow

cc: Chagall 2022

The Curl

I've a fleeting memory of
having once been prescient of
this very moment, long ago
imagining myself one day 
thinking back.  

cc: Chagall 2022

Etude

it's so trite to say
one's breaths are
taken away, over
and again in love

people 
forego 
dessert
when in love,
forget
to sleep
perchance
to awaken 
from the dream

to kiss or to be kissed, 
lips self-reference,
lusciously grope

every point
on the face 
is alive, expectant,
a lash on a cheek,
a whisper on a brow,
a sigh along a neckline

palm to palm,
temple to temple,
ashes to ashes

cc: Chagall 2021


once, in a forest, as a tree falling,
I vibrated the air and demanded
you Listen!

are you there,
here where I am,
in this half-circle of
inner-movie, the gray
under the arc, our theater
in the cozy round?

I see you there where I end, 
where the underbrush starts

if not
for entropy, the broken
reassembles, in time 
we would love again

cc: Chagall 2021



Gift

And the binder that you bought me, dear Mary,
I did fill with wonderful thoughts and designs,
as you said I would

cc: Chagall 2021