Lavender amulets tattooed on her legs, release their scent, tender zeal,
a vernal pool. Approach me my melancholy rockabye baby, cuddle up,
never turn blue.
© Chagall ∞
Tag Archive: lavender
I am awash in
incidental oregano.
© 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
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
A ten-finger bundle of oregano,
freshly harvested, tied in coarse twine,
hangs from a drying ring,
just below the wind chimes.
Unusually strong winds for such a hot day,
tousle the bushy-head lavender.
That scent is Sara,
in starched white smock
and little else,
visible until she descends
down the overlook.
I run to follow her,
slowed by the stuck porch door,
to finally gaze at her from the ridge,
for a while, unobserved,
she dances about the calypso orchids.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 