Friday, November 27, 2020

Wedding (Marc Chagall), Sonnet #540


 












For Ruth


We couldn’t foretell the future.

Who can? But with hope, trust, desire

On the wedding day, we made pure,

Our breasts pressed, blanketing with fire.

Outside a blizzard blocked the streets

And dazzled the windows light white.

Later, later, we heard the night,

Unafraid, as we stretched smooth sheets.

Forty-three years and nothing’s changed —

Not between us, not you, not me.

Newness, like children, we arranged.

We held them, then we set them free.

My love, I hold you in my arms,

Our kisses silence all alarms.


My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here: