Kaleidoscopic Collisions

 (for Marc Chagall)

listen, 

there is wind inside my head
soon I will fly

but for now
help me weep 

paint me across that ceiling
show both Luscher bruise
and stained glass breakage

light has a life
of its own

but it can spare a momento
penetrade body and heal

this could be a song
as night surrenders
to a dawn nearly golden

I am still here

losing a game to the Cheshire
whose grin grinds this out
into old soft serve

the new soft shoe
breaks itself in
first step of this dance
is more a leap of blood

the cool cream of her eyes
consistent as the highest apple
falling from a tree
that others have written about
from outside of her shade

find me inside that shadow
teaching colours to the blind
in bullets of Braeille
that pop pure feeling.

William Crawford © 2011