Alphabet City

She got angry because I said I wouldn’t be impressed one way or the other.
Perhaps I should have said non-plussed.

Chagall 2019

Too beautiful to use in any practical sense,
I tuck the melodies away near the fold-away stairs,
by the porcelain espresso set, and mark them
likewise as fragile.

Chagall 2019

I’ve waited too long to reach out,
to call, now it’s much more difficult,
soon it will be impossible.

Till the next time we see us.

Chagall 2017

I’d not thought of carousels in a while,
till I started going ’round in circles,
bobbing always down, no hope for the ring
right there at the tip of my outstretched hand

I gave my steed permission to let go,
enjoy the thrall of sweet grass underfoot,
the cool pure water from the brook to trough,
unbridled runs in dappled afternoons

Now at the gate I take one final look,
stretch out on the hay at the end of day
to dream of speed, fruit, loving caresses,
a soft brush trailed down and through tangled mane

The deep gaze into the eyes of twilight,
a large heart heaving after the gallop
slows in time to a steady rhythmic pace
until it ceases, when riders dismount

Across the glen the calliope sings,
lilts to say it had not been a sad song

Chagall 2019

I remember my mom, a dark morning
walking hurriedly, then huddling in the rain,
inside her coat she holds me, warm against wind,
the rapping sound of droplets on stretched fabric,
the airbrakes of buses on the avenue layers away

in rainlight under
small umbrellas
cozy in drizzle
people come and go

scurry really, blurred
more from mist than speed

who knows where that time goes…

everywhere a dollop of puddle,
walloping pools of warm water,
galoshes

most things float – so many boats rush the curb
wash-away run-water, tickling trickles,
memories of ripples sounding

the pavement, again a stream,
rivulets attain velocity
shoe-sole-heigh

the light reflected is real
as is the actual light

poetry in diffraction, astigmatism
radiates deep color

whose megaliths are these at the outcrop?
– it pours on the bridge as well
as under it – surely, waters rise and runoff

the open window brings spray – sprizzle –
with each breeze the coverlet dampens

Chagall 2019

I step aside as the laurels fall back upon me,
allow them to hit the floor solidly, a single thud
reverberates for a moment on the hollow between beams,
then dies – a memorial to blue noise, God as ocean
upon which I rode when newborn, a powdery surfer,
puckered and sweet, alert to the new day

Then prescient; occurring now
before buoys of word harbors,
life interceding

I live
to jot
iota on the fly!

Don’t forget me not

Chagall 2019

My ophthalmologist said
I ‘m concerned about those flashing stars you’re seeing

I said
Doc, so am I – I think they need our help!

Chagall 2019