In time we find
though never lost
in trimmed gardens
The search alone
we sidle walls
flash furtive glance
In green maze
morning haze drops
The same each time
blurred roundabout
swirl dizzy spires
Endless breathlessness
tiring quicker
than yesternight
Out of rush of flame
comes desire
Sparkling cold
dense stars are lit
the air so thick
Like water we
drown
© Chagall 2014
The gate on the garden is locked for now
Severely deficient of oxygen
Vertical drops of meltwater cascade
A place for rebel angels to unleash
Wrath, do damage to primary organs
Commonly formed when the river is young
God, are you there? Do you hear me calling?
A strong knee on my belly choking me
The watercourse races, pulling me down
While she ponders her reflection in glass
Blood flow ceases to the brain, thankfully
Over time carved deep, we recede upstream
To a fruitless and barren place we pass
© Chagall 2014
Forest rains pour down
to wash human scent away
wild life rejoices
© Chagall 2013
I was born, the fifties, New York City,
though I wish I’d grown up in a small town,
near a stream perhaps, water racing down,
I’d embrace that life with alacrity.
I’m sure though I’d display tenacity,
right after donning high school’s cap and gown,
to move north to the urban sprawl or drown,
bright lights appeal to my insanity.
They’d chew me up, innocent from the grotto,
break me down, leave me sad and despondent,
unable to cope, keep up with the pace.
No, better to have grown in the ghetto,
a six-story walk-up, a tenement,
nothing to sacrifice, no loss of grace.
© Carlos Chagall, 2013
Alphabet City 