Tag Archive: ocean


Dearest Gaia

I pour water into the earth to watch it dissipate and percolate,
wondering where does the time go. The backs of my beach shoes

worn flat from my habit of not slipping in all the way,
my bare feet on warmed wood slats tell me I’m more alive now,

the sun underfoot, I am square, balanced atop the regolith,
a planet that spins and falls amid a din that I no longer hear,

the world that I see

as I follow the fan of my hand, implies all that there is
or nothing, depending solely on who I am, or no one.

© Chagall ∞

Advertisements

Sara is Her Summer Love

I utter the unspeakable in order
to definitively convey that aspect of it
yet I do not suffer consequences. We are
bewildered – what to do, where to go from here.

I am nothing but eyes amid the sensation of a swing aloft
in a ceaselessly sunny sky, my shoelaces are green
but I am otherwise awash in primary color, yellow
and red are my glow amid her cooler blue.

Sky as thick or thin as I like it, in doughy gulps
or wispy cold streams.  She could float upon oceans for hours
never to sink through salt water.

She’d swim away out beyond
where I’d imagined
the breakers would be.

© Chagall ∞

Sand Once Sky

She’s a circling gull and
I am a flash among shoals.
She swoops me up and
then she releases
for I am not what she seeks.
I wash away once more to be beached
yet again on the sand down the shore
amid shells and kelp, content atop smooth
sunbaked eroded rock.

© Chagall ∞

Prayer and Pledge: From an Aerie

Candles oblige me, light me back
to the sea, for at night I lose my way
if not for the sound of surf, the salt-spray,
I’d be lost, tossed about as innocence in the squall,
fragile bones amid limber wind, snapped barely alive
except for the thought of you buried deep,
the last seed of hope that I know I’ll sow someday.

© Chagall 2016

Aloha

I’m an ukulélé by an open window and
I’m hoping that you’ll pick me up to pluck
Sing a song about three lovers near the water
Lala lala lala la aloha-oe

© Chagall 2016

The Last Blue Bungalow (2013, revised)

My heart once was open
a drafty emptied room

Sun aslant
on faded walls
venetian blinds
parted and stuck
bent by peering eyes

I’d look out
over beachfront
abandoned
atop the dune
beyond the reach
of riptide

Swirls of mist
amass and conspire
to engulf me

There at the edge
of a rising sea
out on a ledge
staring down

© Chagall, 2013/2018

%d bloggers like this: