Chagall
Everywhere I went
the maps were more accurate
than the land.
I was lonely.
I broke into Heaven
to steal three gold leaves
but found myself in a dispute
near Minsk
behind a grain elevator
where a girl wanted to kiss.
Red wheat. Green moon.
The peasants asleep
standing up in their boots.
White river. Red branch.
Oblivious
to the laws of composition
someone streaked lapis
diagonals
onto the background
suggesting horses
in motion.
Establishing a Setting
This poem is in French
with English subtitles.
Scene one: Il pleut.
Rain is
raking the sea
into piles,
a plantation
as seen
from your balcony.
When the wind gusts,
palm trees
make feeble attempts
at flight,
one crow shakes loose,
bamboo shivers up
the hill,
at once the children
all the lost
run out from the forest.
It’s hard to believe
there are so many.
Ils sont vos enfant.
They’re your children.