Tag Archive: actuality


Partake

I cup strawberries in my hand under a stream of freezing water
The sun’s heat, stubborn at first, relents and leaves the fruit

© Chagall ∞

2 to 1 to 0 to 1 to 2

I search for the source, a vantage point
over which I hover to resonate, in order
to speak with alacrity, honored to be
the medium, the clarion voice,
le trompettiste; I flow and so
I’m a flower, a steady stream
of warm words awash in your ear,
the storm before the quell,
not merely a silent hour,
an end to separation,
a prelude to the loss
of the throb.

© Chagall ∞

Epiphany at Seaside

The aroma of oil and salt,
a breeze cooler than the stagnant
air about me, fried potatoes
on ocean winds waving somewhere
on the planet, whitecaps hold foam
while moonbeams reign supreme
in the gravity, the order of things,
as all must be is surely.

© Chagall ∞

Relax deeply, secure in the updraft, ride the scree,
low in the pocket, let flexible tension arc about you,
buoyancy – wind rushing cilia,
spread under light and sky
in full spanned glory,
a journey upward
to thinner
rarefied
air.

© Chagall ∞

Mouthing the Words

The gape, tongue off hard palette, the gape again,
teeth into bottom lip, expulsion of air, say I Love You

© Chagall ∞

Illumina

Let there be light:
plea or command?

© Chagall ∞

In the Now

Depending on where you are, it’s already
yesterday elsewhere.

© Chagall ∞

To Soar

As a child I could project myself to the tops of tall trees
I would search out the highest point of the canopy and imagine
The world from that vantage

My wings would ache
To fly down to me
Looking up

Instead I’d turn
My sideways glance
To the sky

As a bird I would project myself to the lowest clouds
I would search out the thinnest white line and imagine
The heavens from that vantage

My wings still ache
From ascension

© Chagall ∞

Sequestered

Moonlight holds
dark milligrams,
pentagrams of photons
dispossessed, lost;
I witness the diaspora
of light. Darkness veils
as deafness, no evil
nor good when there is no need,
when eyes become superfluous.

© Chagall ∞

De-reflecting

The ground is too far below for me
to discern my own face in the puddle
of rain immortalized. Once I was
a downpour, a constant gurgle
in the drain spout, warm and blue
water flows, banks steeply in foam
before the fall. I plead a cascade
of long dawnings where nightbirds recede
into the day’s cry, a jaunt once again
in sunlight that’s always warmer than early rays,
before the first frost when only a few turn sweeter
for the cold crystal tears that break on cheeks
as tiny pellets of snow on glass wiped clean
on dark roads, by butterflies – that’s where I’ll live,
atop canopies not in them, a soar above the crowd
a cut below, in startling light, not in shadow,
stark, evanescent, constantly re-birthed while birthing
incrementally ascending higher through skies unattained
upon velvet breaths that scour my lungs alive despite
the gasping intake of free fall. Vertigo does not blind me
nor deter me, my bead on you. You are Life, and We as One
are None.

© Chagall ∞

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