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 ∞
Alphabet City 