The Springing moon was so lumpity full
the witch slid from the broom,
an interdict of wand burst drops spidery ladders
reaching down now for reaching up.
They cling from behind the razor mesh
the forlorn the broken the hopeful,
to silk and linen and cool things
one hand twirled at wrist.
The gentle cuff spins slowly
revolving they go seeing the oceans wink,
in appreciation for the circus adagio
as up rises the blooming merry gig.
Humming clouds stoke lightning calm
starting words that have no tongue,
spinning in the nebula blur hearing
galaxies tuning their atmospheric differences.
And the soundless everness of space
begins to twitch in drawing breath
as black holes converge mirrors in a mirror
of interstellar transit lounges.
Coming off the roundabout as reborn harmonics
each gleaming new citizen sees,
star language taking shape out of the chorale
‘we’ve boundless plains to share’.
Chagall - The Blue Fiddler, courtesy I Require Art