The little horse has passed, still her harness bells summon
snowfalls shared, quiet leas, and the long dark nights of winter.
© Chagall 2017
Tag Archive: winter
The night air is extraordinarily
cold, rarefied – prompts me to consider
if I had considered the language
It is snowing
then I thought simply
It snows
or simpler
Snowing
and still
just
Snow
sparkling
dry falling
night squadrons
wee icy crystals
cascade down her lashes
freeze cheeks
numb kisses
her lips
quickly
we are the first
to warm ankle-deep in
Snowfall
Chagall 2015
Droplets
crystalline
tone
so quiet here
snow underfoot
crunch stones
of ice
quite pious here
light
astigmatic
stars
halos awash
in twilight
breathless, yet see
how my breath escapes me
I am frozen regaled
in powder-blue night
Chagall 2015
I love the way
sound sounds
in slow crunchy snowfall
there’s no doubt
that we’re inside
the dome
Chagall 2015
I told her I’m sure there’s bells
you can’t help but hear them –
There! You see?
Twin peals in echelon
waves above up in pockets
then swoops below near the prey
This close to the ground we risk
broken wings, we need to find lift anywhere
If I just let go I get aloft
I have long known how to walk on ceilings
I have sat on chandeliers
and walked through upside-down window sashes
I step from this ladder through your second-floor window
to entreat your love, float gracefully down to the ground unhurt
unscathed in defiance of gravity, grateful
graceful as a balustrade slide in white tie and tails
I win and heads lose, we embrace only these end times
not before, that was then while this merely is
I revel now and still
counting the bells –
you can’t help but hear them
Chagall 2015
A small bird flying overhead
determinedly through the wind
high above is tossed she chirps
desperate to be somewhere
Chagall 2015
From the low part of the land, in the windows at the crest
indistinct figures dance behind the golden glass lit to music
more imagined than heard, I can fog them with frost from here so
they disappear, how I love my crunch in new-fallen snow,
my back angled, face alee, burrowed in a warm woolen muffler,
a straight-away plus a bend away from the smile of your eyes at the door.
© Chagall 2014
The slower snow is content to flurry
but hastened to blizzard
by crazed young flakes
so all the world’s a-swirl
© Chagall 2014
A woman
of no and every
color
waves to me
from the rooftop
before
she flies away.
I watch as her bubble
ascends . . .
the chevron
the V of pigeons
entangled in lines
alley music
heaven’s door framed
in mosaics.
© Chagall 2013
Alphabet City 