When you come to this country you should be asking yourself
what am I bringing rather than what am I seeking to take.
© Chagall 2014
Tag Archive: Chagall
She comes across grace, the way that she flows
in gowns, down stairs, through life,
utterly in love with fascination of love.
Minor chords fade to dissonant
whispers that barely touch nothing
at the end where time goes silent;
a puff of black.
I would rather she fade
to indigo.
© Chagall 2014
I found her shears in the garden today
though it’s years since she’s passed away;
I imagine she left them one morning
then nature took its course, consumed the pair.
Time unveiled them just now at this moment
in the mound of rocks we’d hill together,
tiny stone quarries nestled by the beds.
Strung Bougainvillea, tatted Queen Anne’s lace
grow through the handle loops about the blade,
whetted once, now too dull to pare the rose.
So petals and thorns need not be afraid
of falling prey to the anvil motions;
how I miss her steady hands, my twin soul.
© Chagall 2014
Just as song the words flow
in time, gating the sense.
To know is
in the making.
The interval is not known
until the second tone.
© Chagall 2014
In a dream, she calls to me from outside.
It’s just before the darkness settles in,
the final rays of sunlight still the trees,
the day retains its heat, promising night.
I open the window and wave to her,
this Juliet fair at my balcony,
gently nudge my body forward then down
floating slowly to the ground beside her.
Her face, beautifully lit, supernatural
in bold relief against the black empty.
She is so close, she eclipses the world;
as we meld we do not pass but are one.
I am her for the moment so I feel
the love for me I as she has for him,
turns us still deeper inward till again
there is no separation; there’s no need.
© Chagall 2014
The world reflects in her tear
like an Escher orb
whole till dissolve
leaving nary but a speck
of moisture
I watch as the breeze
fades it away
© Chagall 2014
Sweeten it first
then chill it down
© Chagall 2014
Peace lies there just outside the window,
still they draw their blind.
© Chagall 2014
Happy drunken steps down snowy streets
I see her frosted breath in powdered balloons
her words wrapped in smiles hang there
like the moment hangs there
beside ourselves
things we could have said alongside that which was
© Chagall 2014
I think the bus ride made it more deadbeat,
or maybe the air brakes provided downbeat each stop –
each time someone tripped the ripcord and let go the ring
and the driver would pull his lever to release the doors to allow the exit
late in the evenings when day was just about done save for the last strong glow
of orange sun atop rooftops and spires, where the harsher shadows would never dare
to alight, where early dreamers could already be seen floating on air
souls akimbo bathing in aqueducts of cool breeze, brisk wind really
whipping about, inverting – sault-somering freefall
down to the street below to the windshields
of city buses toting us home to the love.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 