flying pitchers
there is
a pitcher with wings
that flies always above
my crown
and pours down
from space
pours out from a bottomless
place
vast and
far
and away
then into
me
and i too
am a vessel
with wings
that flows freely
up
after filling
up
pours back
what pours
is liquid
that is gaseous
that is black
that is rainbow
that is clear
that sparkles and
glitters
with every star
ever
in / is
me
or you
or we
and blue blue blue
do not
forget
the before
and after
that is all in all and all
that could ever
be
the vessel and
i
the vessel
fill
and cleanse
and tip
and drip then flow
and replenish
again
for all time
both not
and a dream
that is what
i mean
i keep things in my head and my heart
afraid they will thin
if i share them
it cannot be that way any more
Marc Chagall
Monotypes en couleur, 1963