The night air is extraordinarily
cold, rarefied – prompts me to consider
if I had considered the language
It is snowing
then I thought simply
It snows
or simpler
Snowing
and still
just
Snow
sparkling
dry falling
night squadrons
wee icy crystals
cascade down her lashes
freeze cheeks
numb kisses
her lips
quickly
we are the first
to warm ankle-deep in
Snowfall
Chagall 2015
Can’t we simply
allow life to be
ebullience?
Chagall 2015
A shooting star
twilit celestial filaments
across my lashes no longer than half-an-inch
yet up there the fantail of light
is twice many billion miles
nearer than your lips and heart
to mine.
We caress at time’s edge
under corona, or maybe it’s umbra
but who’s to say?
Steady pulse
of shade to light
shadow to crown and
you to rain.
We are leaves invert
we are tips of roots
we are that from which all is derived
we are constellations.
We have begat
the universe
that which is
out there
is small.
Chagall 2015
I thought I’d express it all in one breath
simply stream out all thoughts sans stops
But I faltered and fell on my face again
seems the usual fare these days
Spare a trifle my friend for a stanza or two
there I go again – nursery rhymes
Half the time I search for
the next time; absent yet deeply
not there
God, there’s ice chips everywhere!
Chagall 2015
A part of memory,
a nuance I couldn’t describe
that connected that specific aroma
with a certain feeling up-down my arms and legs
throughout my gut a tingle of being alive and timeless
– I felt it again today.
How strange to be outside
looking in.
Chagall 2015
On guitar I played phrases
turned and inverted to prove
my love soars more than melody
Beyond that I can’t even
begin to remember
Uncertain where dulcet
turns somber
turn, dip, samba sways,
more nighttime, these
dazes, I stagger
Arpeggios of frozen air
trickle, trip, keep trickling
tickling my mouth, merging with spirit
erupting in steel
Solid steel
I am
immovable. I
am . . .
Chagall 2015
Lingering
never say die
from this flat line
rebirth
Sparks spike
on the graph
upside down vees
mean carbon’s awake
I flutter I shake I
bake back to life
ain’t been this good
since the last time
Chagall 2015
They repeated
No, no thought
Contented, I’d given up
trying to tell them
All things at once
is the same thing
Chagall 2015
Shall we allow this Sunday
to slip by without memorial
just another in the line
or is it something special?
Tonight is a time for sorrow
yet also hope for the new day
I’m so mixed in a bipolar way
flashing hot, cool, on, off
a sob becomes a scream inside
a head filled with sugarplums
upon whose breast I lay my weary cheek
perchance to awake. Allow me
to place a kiss atop your forehead,
to the tip of your nose,
in this perfect dark room we giggle
and glimpse the faeries of the evening
diaphanous will-o’-the-wisps scattered
on warm breeze misted alive they frolic
galloping about our optic nerves
Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 