I retrace the lines of your handwritten letters and imagine you once sitting there I see what you saw as the ink flows cursively from your heart, to your head, to your hand, to the paper, now yellow and cracked where your fingers run the length of the folded seams; it seems only yesterday or a lifetime ago a small water stain outside the margin, perhaps a drip from a teacup that day that missed your lips and fell, to be absorbed or maybe a tear I wish I'd saved the envelope that held the missive close in hand, the flap and stamp that touched your tongue, a return address where no one lives today at least no one I know cc: Chagall 2021
Tag Archive: time
on the scale of it all we are nearer the end of the smallest of things cc: Chagall 2021
Where do the young go, do they frolic in a new field warmed by an old sun, or in aged meadows lit by now? Everything dies, sheds skins, to give way to the moment Once swayed by the song, the length of the body in dance presses on, listens for the rhythm, hums along until the tempos change And watch as if outside-in, themselves a third party, a single heart here... From the rise that emerges there in the lowlands, amid the mist and the faces, an outstretched hand, a single smile, a breath, a curl, a lash, a cool smooth cheek The incredible sensation, the surround of loving arms, the perfect nestle of neck in neck, a race to all that is good was once good I know now that blue continues long after the eyes are gone cc: Chagall 2021
Better days will come, my friend, at least that's what they say, and we will rejoice at their dawn. The lost along the way are strewn along the petaled path we spy, spirals into the hidden curve behind us. Before us the road well-hidden still bends there in the undergrowth. Moments turn to hours, goodnight turns to morrow... And way has led to way as has been told, and years and years from now, we - We will tell tales of a time when better days lay ahead. cc: Chagall 2021
as a pointillist I dabble in implication, you infer sky and water from dots I render the eyes' sweet surrender to that which is not I touch the blue by the sky inside you, provoke the memory of dappled green whorls of afternoon sun diffract lazily off the pond reflecting nearby reindeer lichen you the viewer are yourself once again twice stippled cc: Carlos 2021
the balloon from your party still holds its helium long after you're gone it bobs there yet in the ceiling corner its long rainbow tassel a curlicue of color in time it will slide down the wall without promise of rising anymore all the best wishes of the day flattened and peeling inert cc: Chagall 2021
Come with me! I know a place where there are updrafts still You can catch your wings and soar Icy blue winds near the edge of horizons Very thin air so easy to breathe So little remaining cc: Chagall 2021
there it is, that distinct aroma a wind of the past a breeze of the gone a flash of laughter once, now lost somewhere in the deluge, somewhere in the design supine on the detritus a back-float on time ethereal buoyant, I fall from a rooftop farewell, receding sky welcome home whispers the blue cc: Chagall 2021
I am cold tall pine
Terns bank away in echelon
God braces mid-air
Chagall 2019
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sometimes I re-read things i once wrote and at first
thought they are grammatically wrong until i realize what it was i meant
Chagall 2017
