Tag Archive: creation


Partake

I cup strawberries in my hand under a stream of freezing water
The sun’s heat, stubborn at first, relents and leaves the fruit

© Chagall ∞

Illumina

Let there be light:
plea or command?

© Chagall ∞

Home Again, When I Can

Yesterday morning I took down an old dead ash tree
that had presided over the middle of the backyard
for fifty years or so. In the evening, with a tea
in hand, I sat there and eyed the space where the
tree had only just stood, and noticed a bird who kept flying
to and from the stump, alit in sawdust, back to perch
on a carved fence-head nearby. After a while I understood
the bird’s plight of my making. We both nestled
there throughout the night, under thinly-aired twilit skies
awash in constellations, anxious for the birth of new trees.

© Chagall ∞

Bumper Crop

I am awash in
incidental oregano.

© Chagall ∞

Weeping Skies for the First Time

The tapping whisper of rain,
Gulls soar, serifs against the long stretch
Of sky and land, the mosaic face of water,
Morning air, thin and cold, early day
Mist envelops always, hope is desire
To release, to touch the atmosphere,
To mean the words yet to find tongues,
Tone recedes into tones receding, the far edge
Where filaments unravel into the empty, void
Unless stamped otherwise, a puddle to stomp,
A bright yellow-slicker, the tapping whisper
of rain.

© Chagall ∞

Haiku for One Earlier Winter

Stars burned bluer then
Breathless joyful morning songs
God today made man

© Chagall 2016

 

 

Nothing But a Space-Time Thing

I am exhilarated by early morning and
the promise of timelessness
to experience life’s wonder.

Till evening song
when hours hang heavily and
I shift to the eternity of sky for bearing.

© Chagall 2016

Folk Art

Gravity or intent
drives the hand
down

© Chagall 2016

For Someone Like Sara

Sweet potato by Melissa drying
together in one heap.

I make a one-cup dough everyday,
roll it or fill it.

We’ve seawater still on our fingertips,
a crust of hot crystal salt.

I’m different – you said,
through the open window – I’m the one looking up.

You were late. I watched you gather lilac and lace
by the unlatched gate.

Your breathing stills matter about the fire,
all being is cured aromatic.

And so able to last
forever.

© Chagall 2016

First Things First

Advance humbly;
we all were once
squiggly beings.

© Chagall 2016

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