Endless possibility filled the moment
(which happened to be morning) sun
baked me dry and timeless so I became
one with the sky so far
above the ground I hover, delight
in my self now not at all
sad to lose it.
© Chagall 2015
We only had words, no meaning,
long liturgical drones,
endless hours, sonorous
dirge-like ponders, attempts
to reveal the roiling core
of our humanity, of love as ground
for creation, essentially to invert,
to feel likewise on the inside,
overlooking already being
once removed from having once felt,
a mist on the face of the water.
© Chagall 2015
Pretty pictures inside my head
stop me from seeing the beauty without,
there where the actual lies, beyond the real
where I’ve occasion to wander rarely,
but now it’s a different story.
© Chagall 2015
Assorted somnambulists are dropping by
to wish me pleasant dreams.
© Chagall 2015
Yesterdays’ regrets,
I let go
Tomorrows’ worries,
I let go
Now what?
Should I have done this?
To those questions,
the speaker replies
Who cares
and who cares.
Now . . .
where was I?
© Chagall 2013
