Right ’round the time of my birthday in May
I start to trim down, in June wine and dine her,
in July bring her flowers and candy, so that
we can hook up some cool night in August
to loll and to make more May babies.
© Chagall 2015
Tag Archive: Love
When you’re asleep
afterglow on your face
so peculiar, remarkably
lovely
© Chagall 2015
Mopping up sprinkles on fingertips, the end of the party,
round sweet remnants, in so many colors, matched the balloons
that bobbed overhead, and I upside down on my bed
pretended to walk on the ceiling.
© Chagall 2015
Today’s snow is like that night years ago with my Dad
under the street lamp, both on our backs looking up
making angels, I not yet ten and he near sixty,
giggling together while the flakes wet our faces,
how pink his cheeks are, how deep are his eyes
in the blue of that night.
© Chagall 2015
The page is parted so subtle
where once your finger touched
and I traveled, searching the meaning
of words and the lattice of white space
© Chagall 2015
In emoticons we’ve driven
past LoLs and pensive ellipses
we’ve elided and skirted the truth
’cause brevity’s better, YKWIM?
I tap and bouquets appear amidst snowmen
who melt . . . batt’ry low . . . fade away
© Chagall 2015
Love you all,
have a great 2015!
Anyone know where
the after-party is?
© Chagall 2015
New Year’s Eve, I will kiss her at midnight
lips in transition – a reckoning
at the passing between two worlds
and so two times I will kiss her
though I’d be happy with any Wednesday
in May just as well.
© Chagall 2014/2015
Last night while gazing at the Pleiades
you remarked that at the time of light leaving
the cluster of sister stars, three hundred
light years away, Bach was newly appointed
concertmaster at the Weimar, and you and I
lay still unfolded, lovers of implicate order.
© Chagall 2014
I do so want to tell you something,
that will make you reach out
across the light, the page plus the miles,
you’ll recall the moment we felt
despite never meeting, truth is the same time
yet a different face for two people
from the same orb rounding the same star,
or do we just fall steady? I forget
which gravitation I’m in on this go-around,
while you’re about me I twirl in wonder, more
turvy than topsy, surely I will find you somewhere
firmly on ground with a strong sudden urge to take flight.
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 