Brief stretch of free time,
this three-day weekend
wells up inside of me.
I seek to savor each moment,
from Friday’s sunrise to Sunday’s set,
every tick in between,
with you.
I will time to stop,
flow back to the source,
relive Friday’s glorious morning,
over and over and over . . .
I will hold you there
in my heart’s amber,
as I’ll hold myself
accountable for prescience.
The moment and you
blur till one
whole tone sustains.
Freedom’s breath fills me,
circulates inside me,
breaks the skin barrier,
to meld me with the air,
carries me aloft.
I spread-eagle
atop cross-currents,
the backroom of existence,
careful not to tangle
in the delicate webs
that are spun there.
I’m a torn balloon,
floating on tattered frame,
broken spine.
Free,
if only for the moment.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 