Lovers in a Red Sky

Only love interests me, and I am only in contact with things that revolve around love. Marc Chagall.

for Linnea

And when they
discover what we

have done. what will
they think of us?

Will they know how
much you love me? How

your hand thrust itself
into this tangle-

d, heaped up heart of my mine,
and pulled out a wreck of gulls

and set them free? Or how you blew
out each street lamp for me, like

the hundred flickering candles
that have kept me,

awake for years, & just so I
could sleep through one bright

night in the safe darkness
of your heart. What will they

know about us? The moon
and her, procession of attendant

stars? Will they know how-
how much I love you, and

will the moon ask for her
stars back, the one’s I stole

and wove into your hair just
last night, while you dreamt

of chasing the same stars back
to earth, those falling stars, like

the bright flash of a wish of that
“once upon a time” little girl you

used to be, dreaming of a love
of your own? Ahh we shouldn’t

worry love, more than not, they
will give no heed… But what if,

O love, what if our loving makes
us lighter than air, and in the red

setting sky, we simply start to float
above it all, above all the men

in their fine hats and all the women
in their complicated dresses twirling

their parasols over their shoulders , their
serious eyes fixed to the ground as if

it were lines from a sentencing, and
then over freshly planted fields, over

hamlets. And of those who notice, some
will call it madness, others will look

down, embarrassed and shuffle their feet in the dust,
but can you see over there, that young

man on the roof with his sketch pad,
that one reading the verses
of changing light

he will record it all

in shades of red


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