Tag Archive: Sara


For Chloe

where ripples fold thin flues arise
to hollow glass tubes to chime

she of first lines and I of the hook
made beautiful poems together

haunting caesurae

we prayed coaxing winds to carry
the continuum

my life
she would cede

at a 4-way stop where none proceed
she pirouettes?

Chagall 2017

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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 ∞

Sturdier Linen

The sun is too hot – it always is,
a single lock of hair on your cheek
scrolls a shadow where I’m lost in whorls
of deep affection, a whirlpool of your gaze,
the tangle of arms and lips, you are scented
everywhere of salts, soaps and time.

© Chagall 2016

Missive: Dear Sara

Like air
it’s everywhere
you breathe

Morning is life
as much as light
polishes

Now seems
to work best
at times

But i don’t know what
i don’t know – is it only
martini? (i could – as you suggest –
rhyme that with blini)

A kiss for any monday
appears on your lips
till our lips meet yet again tomorrow

How pregnant
the pause and i am
postpartum

Now indeed seems
to work best
all the time

© Chagall, 2016

A Poem For Sara

Wielding the pen is the poem
is it not?

That we are at all
more ponderous
than why.

Tell me again what I’ll tell you,
I never grow tired of hearing.

You arrive before that which precedes me,
such is my life, these latent neurons.

And love?
Rain, alchemy, inevitable parting,
the last touch of fingertips in a crowd.

The sweet and sour and salt of you –
such a heady bouquet.

Chagall 2015

Sara In The Wildflowers

chagall backdrop

A ten-finger bundle of oregano,
freshly harvested, tied in coarse twine,
hangs from a drying ring,
just below the wind chimes.

Unusually strong winds for such a hot day,
tousle the bushy-head lavender.

That scent is Sara,
in starched white smock
and little else,
visible until she descends
down the overlook.

I run to follow her,
slowed by the stuck porch door,
to finally gaze at her from the ridge,
for a while, unobserved,
she dances about the calypso orchids.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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