Tag Archive: Love


From This Time

Lately I’ve insight into the timeless,
so subtle, perception of beauty of light,
of truth, of love, needing not yesterday
nor tomorrow to be, the clearest field
of space for mind to dwell, to frolic –
indeed to play and touch, weightless.

Light engenders objects with the characteristics
of the timeless, yet I’m certain the blind
sense forever, they can stop their day
as you and I can.

I shall not believe that those with five senses
are nearer to God than those of us with just one.

I believe sight is possible without eyes,
as music is sans ears, a sigh without a heart.

We are immersion-in-sensuality regardless
of the state of our senses.

It is night, only she by the ocean
where moonlight bathes in her hair,
the luster of shadow along sand
invites her to lie and rest.

In morning sunlight she arises
refreshed and timeless.

© Chagall ∞

Despite Love

I wonder in colors that she sees only while coming.  I race
to stride beside her; we dapple the ground with the shadow of our gait.
Time is evident, a mist evaporates off hot gray pavers, leaves behind
a dotted line, a seam that closes, and is gone.  I have always been destined
to love her.  I am compelled to protect her from sadness and in so doing
I bring sadness.

Vast fields of primary colors heather, wash
and bleed with the passing of each new tone, sacred intervals;
we are naked, splendidly hued, we are eyes
imbuing elegant rainbow bodies.

She is laughter, healing balm
for the brow, under a tarp
in the rainstorm, we embrace,
human beneath fading colors,
just barely dry.

© Chagall ∞

Purpose

Once we count the stars, what then
will remain to sustain our love?

© Chagall ∞

Lost in Transformation

Autocorrect changed kiss off to kiss all without my knowing;
it’s probably just as well, all things as they must be.

© Chagall ∞

Grandpa would flash a spray of cool water
each morning on the panting gray cement
stones about the yard, colors and hues
of the earth’s minerals flushed deep
brought to life in small puddles
accumulated there near the clover tufts
holding tight in the cracks, the crevices
abutting the frame, the scene at large,
we pan higher than we did that day,
all of our life there in neat little
bunches of boxes in boxes where people we love
carry on, carry out their days, turning on and in
and out and back, to a different way as hope goes,
newly baptized, in deep commune, confirmed, wed to all,
in repose amid the somber hymns of concluding rites,
beneath grandpa’s spray, a flash of silver liquid,
an old man’s giggling face lost in the brilliant sun
of a promise forever solvent.

© Chagall ∞

Lonely Chirps

Creatures of the kingdom appear to have homing instinct,
still I feel deep sadness for those who succeed to be lost.

© Chagall ∞

From the Rocking Chair

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 ∞

Not Bergamot

No word is as lavender, in scent or color, is in life,
as a film is longer than a poem or a sigh is,
pointillists revel in innuendo, a pout once hidden
behind a shoulder, turns as time turns, twice bitten,
nipped on by lips and a tongue most tender in touch as in life
as a year is longer when newer as younger was a smile
awash in sun that clouds had hidden
away behind serious-nimble strata
upon cheeks

rained down like kisses, a softer sense, what’s ahead within
dappled then mottled, the shadows of waving leaves, offstage: the sun,
adept, persistent, a beacon perhaps, a sentry, a guard on the nod,
a star

There is no creation more possible than this one
she flies laughing-deflating, a wisp of her vanishing self,
a balloon losing air, she is ground around figure once was,
and no one is she, in blood nor marrow, as in life
as a day is longer than a poem or a sigh was.

© Chagall ∞

Neat Little Bows

How subtle are these symbols, to clinch or to clench,
both embrace, one the certainty of winning, the other
holds tight to imminent loss, to quench, bring cooling
liquid, healing balm, through tight canals to affliction,
immersion in ice, or steam, infinite horizons of water,
too quiet, to hush someone lovingly with finger upon lips
shushing air.

© Chagall ∞

Coming Down

Rain.
My neighbor is playing classic rock, lost in the din
Of rain.
Cardinal calls pierce the sheet of sound, lovingly embrace
The rain.
All of life cascades in a downpour around me, I am lost as preordained
In the rain.
Saturation. Virginal daisies or is that camomile?
I am the rain.
I am every scent of lavender exposed in mist on warm nights
After the rain.
The softest drop of dew about to flee from thirsty petals
Before the rain.
Moonlight, peeking out from dying clouds,
Dreams of rain.
I lie beside you, fall through your gravity, you ask What’s it like inside?
I whisper Rain.

© Chagall ∞