The last silver streamer alights,
confetti and ticker tape abandon flight,
balloons fall from celebration
failing to be held aloft.
Remember when we were? Each awakening brought
a new day with new sun in which we bathed defiant,
we dared it to blind us, we countered with our own
heat, radiance, impulse to grow, and then to burn away.
Soft brooms whisk the memory; the clink of glasses raised
to toast is still there, not quite yet imperceptible.
© Chagall 2017
I’d rather dance just with you
perhaps even drink alone now that there is
some moon this New Year’s Eve
Your name is Jessica Eve so that makes you
the night before Jessica
(I was once the elf
of Saturday Eve)
I consider us one since we will howl
together in the wetlands tonight
The stars shift subtly look different
with passing time though not quite aligned
to the stroke at midnight
My heart will cascade its tickertape
among the fleeting, their raised flutes intone
ripe crystals, honed glass holds the promise
of the toast to which we all spring
Love & Peace in 2016
Chagall 2015/2016
I will lie down in the middle of the avenue
during a ticker-tape parade, and I will float
airily up into the joyful blizzard of celebration
Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 