The wind tonight
moans like a pan flute lover
on the crest in salted foam
searching aqua on the black
I pray for boughs from the arbor
round as thighs, engorged with snow
frozen crisp, ready to break
free, to collapse the roof
and bury us deep in the rubble
© Chagall 2014
Tatted lace about the heart
of the secretly admired
is over time tattered.
Let’s not unveil our eyes,
not yet.
The spun world
welcomes lovers,
you’ve heard
the old song say.
It all comes undone,
your hair, your belt,
your inner peace,
when this reddest heart’s
at bay.
I will cherish
your innocence
until I won’t,
so sadly.
Farewell love,
time will have
no need to heal
this time.
Starched white tatting
hold sway, this Happy
St. Valentines Day.
© Chagall 2014
I was unable to reach any conclusions
with the ladder she’d provided
foregone or otherwise,
though I drew upon her wisdom
first with crayons
and then acrylics
in my second trimester
of expecting change
for better or worse
whichever came first
depending on the speed
of her stroke
time marches to a sweep
smaller than a second-hand
takes away
what the hour gives
broad arcs on which we ride
to evade the flood
two by two
concussive blows from
two by fours
do-see-do and curtsies
picking at nits
and daisy petals
she loathes me
she loathes me lots
the bathrobe I recognize
but whose sari now?
© Chagall 2014
The universe births creatures
Unfolds them from the void.
Elisabeth pops towels and sheets
Clearly unwrinkled
From the dryer, driest
When cynical. Small gel tablets
Pass in four-way kiss
From under the tongue
Without the right of way.
If you can’t stand to see me this way
Then please, sit
Close your eyes, let down your hair
As I did you, more or less than you think
Therefore, philosophers say that you are
But we know better, best when shaken.
Who knew so many carats
Could assemble and still
Lack luster? My collection
Of ring fingers always points.
Just add light
Stir and arouse, but beware
Facets and edges.
Stars collapse under
Their fiction, covers ripped
Not for resale but bargain bins.
Just burn. Destiny has no children
Yet, stillborn nieces
Refuse to leave nana’s house
Fearful of starless nights.
May I call you Liz?
I prefer my satin rough
This evening clear as the day
After. My love for you
Is a gnawing sorrow
That’s near chewed through
But nothing that plaster
Can’t mend.
© Chagall 2014
To summers that never came
I raise my glass
To lowered eyes
To think that we’d revere
to pass in our lives
To waters that still hold sway
but not here
To sand that holds
yet the body line
To the bi-plane pulling banners
To footprints on the walk
since disappeared
© Chagall 2014
Those who love love-lost
slowly drown glub-glub
mouth-to-mouth
kisses can
resuscitate
Clear!
© Chagall 2014
On the underside of love
one heart aches
for a second chance
concedes instead
to halve
© Chagall 2014
I’m sorry I have not paid a call
the weather’s been harsh and what with
time on the march
and all
All send their love
as they did that last day
Days we set out
in search of the heart,
so much good in the world, we’d thought
Expect we will see each other
soon
After all, dear Sara
is far too long
© Chagall 2014
As a kid we had the five-second rule:
if you dropped something, especially food,
you had that much time before germs settled in.
Though I did favor more a three-second version
depending on the drop’s locale.
Forty percent less likelihood for foreign biology to hitch a ride
should a sandwich or a lover’s heart ever touch cobblestone.
Beware the violent rip on the lower back
as you plunge in time
to retrieve
your item.
© Chagall 2014
The story of her life,
how she flits
in and out?
Hold that thought,
she’ll be right back . . .
She’s got a thousand eyes
except for two, unlike Impressionists
who have just enough
dots in their shade
© Chagall 2013
Alphabet City 