on the scale of it all we are nearer the end of the smallest of things cc: Chagall 2021
Tag Archive: quantum
From atop the altar, a humming sound,
the sweet scent of imminent grace,
morning light imbues stained glass
with timeless palpitation, what is old
is new once, ancient olive wood
balustrades provide steady ascent.
What’s that hovering o’er the assembled?
My soul resonates with the dissonant voicing
of the towering pipe-organ.
Chant, all you chanters.
Mais oui, absolument, chanté!
The good news is that
good news is
Truth.
From here atop the land-mound
I sing to the sun gods,
I reflect light back
To The Others on the land-mounds
Below Me, and They to Those
Below Them and on
We are One upon rich green rope,
buttery young olives.
© Chagall ∞
Here at the center of all creation, light must pass
through me to arrive on the other side
© Chagall ∞
A game of inches, halftones someday maybe
just a fingertip away from grasp, the thinnest
side of a prism edge, a place where souls slip
but not slide, inter-inter for one inter does not
suffice to suggest the slight of gap, the sleight
of the blue that is nearly blue, monochrome
intervals are what we are, variations in theme,
grande motif, leitmotif, light years away from any
home.
© Chagall ∞
Infinitesimally minute circles of being
align, vortex along one malleable cortex.
I am distributed, I am a planetary system,
I hum prismatic with colors of sound primordial.
© Chagall 2017
The light is soft here as if all the world is heather
askance, atilt and askew. I stare at a door ajar
that invites me to slip in now and then, and I do.
I float on a tone, bulbous sound beats against time
measured in gulps, a three-quarter waltz paced regularly
when I least expect it to. I wish you eternal lavender.
Life offers life on the gentlest of palms below the wrists’
hollows so slender and kissable. Cheeks intended for cupping
dimple and provoke the protrusion of lips for tugging, to daub,
pull and pout. The colors around me begin to lose their soft-edge,
sadly. I hear the click of the door lock, not certain which side I am on.
On the down beat I gracefully swoop with torque and suspension,
sinew and skin and blood, at work in miraculous union.
© Chagall 2017
I’ve a desire to walk aslant
gyro nimbly into new realm
suck in my breath till I am half-an-inch deep
so I can squeeze through the hairline
black seam of the door that’s cracked, leads
to behind what we believe is visible
now you see me, now you don’t, now you see me
now you might: inter-dimensional jitterbug
© Chagall 2013
Alphabet City 