chagall backdrop

Strange,
how nothing moves.

The clockwork’s
stopped.

Sprung,
a gear, a female gear . . .

ray,
a drop of . . .

I move
too freely,

having been
here before.

Hawks
in the canopy,

whispers
in the wings.

Still alone
and quite alone,

are really not
the same.

© Chagall, 2013