I yearn for the happiness
that you do not feel
I vibrate my total being
to will it so
I learn instead that
love can grow from sorrow
Chagall 2016
Tag Archive: being
The forecast missed her small tornadoes
she of far beyond uncharted water
right-side up the least preferred way
to travel, she’d grab my cheek to help me
to navigate warm currents among shallows
where safe is illusion cast by shoals
luminous looming jutting crags
on sky as ground, with God as witness
her hand held up to Nowhere running wild
through tiny cracks in our being
Chagall 2016
I remember now as a child
the sense of falling
Not down on my knees
but plummeting
Earth was falling, hurtling through space
and I was attached to the Earth
My Mother held me tight
while the wind tunneled about us
though stars receded, secure I grew
to ignore the fall
I remember now as a child
that sense of falling
Chagall 2016
The mirror clearly said msispilos
so I took it and smashed it repeatedly,
vehemently before shocked onlookers
until all I had left was a single splinter
of the handle in my hand.
And that – as they say – is that.
Chagall 2015
Not a parent nor a prince,
neither president or king,
ones lover not-self
but God.
© Chagall 2015
How creative the moment it constellates
like stars in time set off little flares
I’m awake I’m awake I’m alive!
against real sky in reel time. Let’s!
you and I do jigs on the dance floor
wave our flames high in the air
We’re awake, we’re alive!
© Chagall 2015
You’re either
at the outskirts,
really not important, or
you’re the there is
at the center. Pick one
or both but not
neither. You can’t
have neither.
© Chagall 2015
As many possibilities for me
as there are stars in the sky
Strangely I feel
I can get to them all
© Chagall 2015
The bells of the new day joyously ring –
correction, triumphantly rang! – while
cold winds swept the whitest clouds
to the threshold of endless azure
and they and I in echelon bank hard
in a yaw and vertical dive till
ceremoniously, in quiet accord we right
to the ringing bells
© Chagall 2014
I pick ground tubers
orange, white, deep purple,
while my students practice
yoga ’bout the hills
around us
In morning sun and overnight dew
I laugh then cry through the splendor
Prisms of light diffract there
on my lashes beaded rainbows
I close my eyes slowly till I am consumed
by indigo, orange,
white, deep purple
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 