On my back barely beneath water,
the soft sand molds me to form,
I’m dense, settled in with full gravity,
heavy human-molten, I dare myself to breathe
in the liquid as at birth my lungs
accustom to the wet, I relax accepting
this will end soon, I smile
at diffracted rays of sun, the final light
I will see this time around; this drowning
is not so hard, it’s more a state of mind.
Chagall 2015
What I thought were
tiny ants
were really splays of sun
that turned out to be
wee ants
© Chagall 2015
Some seeds display
erratic behavior
rather inconsistency
in their rate of sprout
with respect to time –
how long – and volume –
how many, more specifically
the percentage coming through
I treat such seeds with mild disdain
jostling their incubators and
peat pellet packs, perturbations
surely their style, nothing regular
about the routine I provide, rotating
to sun, shade to moist, dry
to mist, drench to relaxed bouts
on cedar planks, cool porches after
hot days, the deck still radiant with heat
photons captured their pulse eager
to tell of where they’ve been, places
they hope to see
The seeds, perhaps seedlings now, asleep atop this cooling bed
dream on behalf of light emanating underneath as heat
Into the earth on a vision quest
for hydrogen-oxygen-carbon – even more sunlight
color minerals, trace elements, the spectrum
proxy for the union of unnamed things
Inconceivably there are no more miles for the light to travel,
if I have not made my point clear, it’s traveled all of the miles
of distance that exist
So it must assemble in wave, in halos about the drop-off so sheer
without sign of bottom, more surrender than plummet, the last call for shadows
in a world of no sound though I imagine that the shriek of gravity is deafening
beyond here there are no more walls
it’s certainly not the place nor time
for hand puppets though that certainly would be ballsy
Hop atop with me, ride the sunspot madly
blindly, dash with me into the light
we shall make new stems and leaves together!
© Chagall 2014
Alphabet City 