We Ask Why

Marc Chagall, Le Violiniste Bleu (The Blue Fiddler)

What if time sails like a ship—
sometimes still, sometimes striking rocks—
We recall the honeyed glow of before, watch shadows
born in moon-whispers grow–as after,
we sleep to the fiddler’s song, blue notes sprayed
into the night sky. The moon hums dreams of mother-love,
a thousand girls and boys smile. We ask why–
but there is this.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. She’s in a reflective mood.

22 thoughts on “We Ask Why

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