Alphabet City

in space, the almost-sterile vacuum, amid cosmic radiation,
we multiply, we travel, we pass through

we the probes appear like virus, penetrate, reside for a while,
scan, inventory the planet life, one by one, and then we are gone

a small data set, less than a moment’s send
over light to the tab quartz crystals

over the eons few stand out as outliers, save One,
part of the three, when your world numbered merely 300 million

such a spike is rarely seen, save again some 500 years later,
a blink for us, generations for you, essentially the same story

the data says dine on whatsoever hath fins and scales in the waters,
enjoy Ajwah dates for dessert, and so restore the covenant of the pieces

faith is to speculation as truth is to fact

Chagall 2020

i l s
i l s
i l s
i l s
islands without sand

Chagall 2020

I remember that highchair, not looking at it, but the view from it,
the objects swimming about the room (people as if under the ocean),
and if I try real hard I recall the sense of it being time to go,
to leave, the feeling of weightless suspension among stars, urgency
to land, the bright rush of blinding white light, the pull of gravity,
finally her face, eyes, hands, lips, voice and smell, the small of her
earlobe as she caresses me, holds my back steady, against her breast,
my tiny finger running the topographic world of her finger, so much
larger than mine, God all around, within everything, no border between
me and her and Him and Her and Me

Chagall 2020

there in the water
all things reflected
blue

as the wind blows
invisible wavy lines
of air

a face emerges
unwavering uttering
let all Be

stutter steps
a winding path
alongside the water

I dive into the reflection
of all things without
floatability

sinking airlessly down
to alight on sandy bottom
facedown prone

convergence on the limit
of all possibilities
at any speed

silica in my mouth
no matter how hard I try
to eschew

as my carbon meets quartz
I crystallize to Become
the record keeper

from underwater I emanate
joyful light remembering
how to breathe

purified luster
clarity is a tablet
to swallow or to write upon

the temperature
of the water around me
rises

I turn on my back
to face the sky
I smile wildly

mouth open
liquid enters me
makes me whole

engorges me
till I consume
(or Am consumed by)
all of the water

like a mother bird
mouth to mouth
come feed

I Am the water
reflecting all things
blue

Chagall 2020

the buzz,
the blaze,
glorious first days

always
mid-morning

and we’ve got time
to kill

the Sun,
my star,
oh God,
your heat

delicious waves
on skin

my heart a rush,
a flutter, I shake

I quake
vast existence

ahead
what’s past
is nowhere
as is now
not even
the very last
moment

noon nor night
ever comes

slow
thick air

opiates
ancient flowers

this is
the endless morning

and we are
immemorial

Chagall 2020

once as an archangel I fell
onto Paris streets
near the arc

a star at the juncture
where life meets death
having known liberty

I yawn and stretch
lick my lips cunningly
die for a cigarette

when did heaven’s floor break?
that’s when I fell

when did hell’s door open?
that’s when I came in

no wonder you can’t feel
the life within you
the light here is way too dim

when did grace cease to be?
that’s when I fell

wonder if I’ll ever get
to see the silver linings
of the clouds overhead

when did I fall,
when did earth cease to be?

that’s when I fell

just an archangel
at the arc triumphantly aching

Chagall 2020

my heart upon yours
a skipping stone
water yet rippled
in the shade of faded day
the cool calls
to the mist, the buzz
slow damselflies
fronds of jade
too many stars
in the sky unreal
I pulse to glimmer
where time stops
hearts stop

each
time

Chagall 2020

no word is as lavender – in scent or color – is in life,
as a film is longer than a poem or a sigh is,
pointillists revel in innuendo, a pout once hidden
behind a shoulder, turns as time turns, twice bitten,
nipped on by lips and a tongue most tender in touch as in life
as a year is longer when newer as younger was a smile
awash in sun that clouds had hidden
away behind serious-nimble strata
upon cheeks

rained down like kisses, a softer sense, what’s ahead within
dappled then mottled, the shadows of waving leaves, offstage: the sun,
adept, persistent, a beacon perhaps, a sentry, a guard on the nod,
a star

there is no creation more possible than this one
she flies laughing-deflating, a wisp of her vanishing self,
a balloon losing air, she is ground around figure once was,
and no one is she, in blood nor marrow, as in life
as a day is longer than a poem or a sigh was

Chagall June, 2017

fingers on gut and steel
do fret such sweet sounds

midget digit gymnasts
contort upon wooden boards

put your ear to the f-hole’s
resonance, reverberate

inside is a small cathedral:
X and treble braces
sound bars and struts
blocks for the neck and tail
miniature flying buttresses

a glass awaiting water
a heart awaiting love
so a guitar awaits a player

is your god half-full
or half-empty?

attack
decay
sustain
release

such is the science
of sound

Chagall 2020

Dear Some Writers,

An ellipsis is comprised of 3 dots, not 4 and certainly not 9.

Please see Crush on the English Teacher

Love,
Carlos Chagall