black-cherry-black: outlines objects
for those with night vision
I am cozy in its dark warmth
powder-blue-moonlight: stark relief
cooler gray shadows
night in the arbor lost-in-pink:
awake at first light
these are the deepest hues
breathe in
the petrichor
salty brine
lavender
© chagall ∞
My vices are tinted
chartreuse, emerald, and puce.
© Chagall ∞
The light is soft here as if all the world is heather
askance, atilt and askew. I stare at a door ajar
that invites me to slip in now and then, and I do.
I float on a tone, bulbous sound beats against time
measured in gulps, a three-quarter waltz paced regularly
when I least expect it to. I wish you eternal lavender.
Life offers life on the gentlest of palms below the wrists’
hollows so slender and kissable. Cheeks intended for cupping
dimple and provoke the protrusion of lips for tugging, to daub,
pull and pout. The colors around me begin to lose their soft-edge,
sadly. I hear the click of the door lock, not certain which side I am on.
On the down beat I gracefully swoop with torque and suspension,
sinew and skin and blood, at work in miraculous union.
© Chagall 2017
Small letters alight on her lashes, tiny poetry about her eyes
Kisses of ancient rhythm, a pucker for a flame stoked
Each blink the turn of a page reveals whole worlds
Every breath has meaning, those lighter than air defy gravity
Limericks line her brow when she laughs
When she sighs I trace my lips along the long volta of her neckline
Where her sonnets turn around
Down her arms flow three-letter words, we are kids again
Awash in primary colors, hands waving wildly at tickles
Dancing about in a spray, we drink water from a hose
There are symbols dangling from her ears that I do not recognize
Baubles of mystery; I linger there eschewing translation.
© Chagall 2016
Late autumn hot
unique humid
sea breezes in-land
colors still ablaze
I a burnt copper
in setting gold sun
reflections, perfect blues.
Chagall 2015
The leaves outside my window
couldn’t be more red, more red
than I have ever seen.
The sky above my head
couldn’t be more blue
yet less blue than I am now.
Chagall 2015
I must tell you all
about the last luscious light
burnt-yellow still burning
in the tops of tallest maples
scraping the tip of blue night
while alive at the other end of sky
hangs the moon manicured frenchly
whiskey sweet a spirited sprite
burns the tip of my tongue
Chagall 2015
Easier to float up
than glide down
I fear for crashing
unable to brake
Ascending I’m secure
push gravity
Full-massage body
peculiar underwater
Chagall 2015
Perhaps it was topaz
similarly lavender
blues, aprons for stars
© Chagall 2015
Sky like a luau skirt
against starched duck-white
of rough linen clouds
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 