Tag Archive: loss


At times, I miss the living
as much as those who've passed

cc: Chagall 2022

In A Yellow Mood

Better days will come, my friend,
at least that's what they say,
and we will rejoice at their dawn.

The lost along the way
are strewn along the petaled path we spy, 
spirals into the hidden curve behind us.

Before us the road well-hidden
still bends there in the undergrowth.

Moments turn to hours, goodnight turns to morrow...

And way has led to way as has been told, 
and years and years from now, we -

We will tell tales of a time 
when better days lay ahead.

cc: Chagall 2021

Ci Vediamo

died last 

one more
tear is all
I have

when there's no one 

odd that she spoke
to him just yesterday
after years of not having

dear Arthur

cc: CC 2020 

But Where Did You Go?

This morning a butterfly sleeps
on the screen of my porch with antennae
lightly cupping the mesh

I stare deep into her round compound eye
and blow gently along her abdomen

She stirs, lifts off in flight then vanishes

Chagall 2017

Veering Southeasterly

Through the south-facing window I see the eagle fly
till the edge of the pane, so I run to the east
to espy her in contiguous flight but she is nowhere to be seen.
I return to find that the window is gone as well.

© Chagall 2017

Partly Misty

The forecast missed her small tornadoes
she of far beyond uncharted water
right-side up the least preferred way
to travel, she’d grab my cheek to help me
to navigate warm currents among shallows
where safe is illusion cast by shoals
luminous looming jutting crags
on sky as ground, with God as witness
her hand held up to Nowhere running wild
through tiny cracks in our being

Chagall 2016

The Weeping Chicana

Her tears
in moonlight

Mercury atop
cocoa velvet

Chagall 2016

The Succulent


With little water for many weeks, today I found a small cactus
sprouted soft and smooth-skinned tendrils, still green, alive
like the curly hair of a young child, the candy-apple scent of talc
behind the ears, so many years ago; I gaze at it here on my palm
and hope it remains evergreen.

© Chagall 2015

Sara One Day


She said flowers are for making
sweet nothing of the air, she’d wave
her bouquet in sweeping arcs,
to trace comets she saw there,
streaks of scent, slow color to fade
figments, flames in the dark dimmed
to a lilac’s breath, her intentions lingered
longer than she, still remain.

© Chagall 2015

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