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
The gaze paints a portrait of
you, lilac and oceanic.
Room-light a dying candle
– the last flame licked, wisps of smoke … the wick –
flutters then dies in evening wind.
The house is dark
save pinholes of stars
where once were windows.
I float here easy as I do
sand or water. Dancing
blue-white as moonlight on snow.
And everywhere, everybody, everything
seems to hum
om.
© Chagall 2016
Conflicted today about what to write:
a new star born in the stingray nebula or
my father and I in a photo younger
than my children are today.
Astronomers say the star expanded due to a helium flash,
“…back to giant dimensions: the born again scenario.”
Through the Hubble telescope I can see my dad
swim upon ripples of time, breathe between strokes,
expertly gulping air.
Suns by day are stars by night depending where you are.
© Chagall 2016
see
ghosts flee
these fields
lavender
notwithstanding
hear the elders
spoke
words melt
ignorant wisps
away
I am yet
not fulfilled
here this place
unknown
© Chagall 2016
Consider that
there is
no God
All birds sing
of their own
volition
Albeit
a sadder tune
There is
no echo
nor refrain
No joyous
hallelujah
A lonely lilt
on empty branch
© Chagall 2016
She wipes her tears away
a soft fold of white tat
lace doesn’t daub well
merely smears the sadness
she feels, has always felt
She’d rather it rain down
blow a hole inside her soul
hollow out the echoes once again
blues – nothing but blues wash her
away to find lost paradise
Chagall 2016
I sharpen my ellipsis
as I’ve got only one
expecting any sudden
opportunity to use it
as I please
Purposeful interposition of
space between
periods
to purport
more is
to come
Perhaps
I am
the ellipsis
Chagall 2016
I yearn for the happiness
that you do not feel
I vibrate my total being
to will it so
I learn instead that
love can grow from sorrow
Chagall 2016
She’s serving her country
since she’s young she has
shitty maintenance shifts
hours till dawn on the tarmac
guys give her crap all night
makes her long for home plus
she’s trying to finish up on-line
credits just shy of her bachelors
she was smart they all said
lately she’s been feeling
that way again with so much hope
for new starts going around
these days she prays more than wishes
she’ll find home again
Chagall 2016
Alphabet City 