Keep moving
we must follow
every drop of ray
must fall – alight
make truer yet
the glow of our skins
we are all
beautiful people
in sunset
tomorrows
wax deliciously
like sunrise – all new days
that’s what hope
looks like blind
faith keeps coming
long the day after
angle me so
I can watch
the last fade
of the light
Chagall 2016
Here.
Is.
The end.
Chagall 2016
Before time there wasn’t only
incessant heartbeat
Humans though water are merely steam
no less of all things
The moment before you knocked
the door swings open wide: you arrive
The ones already in search continue
long before you’re here
And wordless reads best
though you can’t remember
I relish the sizzle
when we meet ice
How we burn
underneath the numb
Chagall 2016
She passed, the lady
who crocheted scarves
for favorite toys
Stuffed pandas sported
lilacs and greens
snug against cold
muffled happy in sound
wool splendor
Her nieces and nephews
all loved her
lined up like urchins
in top hat and dragging tails
Life cleaves carved
runners in the snow
they fade behind
or loom before
who is certain
in the blur
crinkle of snowfall
a solitary bell
She nods, beckons
Godspeed, good night
clutching her bag of yarns
Chagall 2015
Droplets
crystalline
tone
so quiet here
snow underfoot
crunch stones
of ice
quite pious here
light
astigmatic
stars
halos awash
in twilight
breathless, yet see
how my breath escapes me
I am frozen regaled
in powder-blue night
Chagall 2015
In my dream my father removes his tie
and hands it to me saying
Merry Christmas C
I take it from him folding it gently
in half, the silk rough to the touch
I ask him
Is there a heaven, Dad?
He smiles, we embrace,
his cheek smoother than I’d imagined
and before he can answer, he’s gone
Chagall 2015
Lingering
never say die
from this flat line
rebirth
Sparks spike
on the graph
upside down vees
mean carbon’s awake
I flutter I shake I
bake back to life
ain’t been this good
since the last time
Chagall 2015
Autumn still conveyed my vibrant colors
until I realized it really wasn’t youth at all.
Chagall 2015
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
And when she passed away
rather than fighting with the rest
over money and land and bangles,
I was adamant, insistent that I
would get her recipes, her Guardian Service,
that picture of her with Pop at the Copa,
the perennials from her garden.
Chagall 2015
Alphabet City 