chagall backdrop

The brave captains
of Saturday night
are dead.

Sunday rains
wash the street
bright, alive and sun-gray.

Such beautiful light
on the barber pole.

A whisper-promise,
soft nibbles
to the lobe.

Long drags
and draws,

and pulls
and strokes.

So much yearning,
first-floor
windows.

Part the curtain,
would you
wave?

I watch
Ed Hopper
prep his palette,

early
Sunday morning.

© Chagall, 2013