Somehow, past the custodians, two green leaves
have entered the gallery to lie
side by side beneath Chagall’s ‘Promenade’.
The artist – next to the wedding treasures
higgledy on a red cloth, his feet
almost firmly in the richly green fields
by the piggledy village, his expression
ecstatic and apprehensive – grips
his painter’s bag with his right hand, with his left,
held upright, his wife’s for she is flying
in a purple dress. Soon he may fly too.
Perhaps the leaves have come from the tree
above the nuptial gifts. Maybe the rush of air
has teased them, from a young woman flying.
Leaves will fall – lovers fly.




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  1. #1 by Hugh Powell - September 16th, 2015 at 19:36

    Poems and paintings are made for each other. A relationship like a marriage. I like the two leaves, like the two lovers. Thank you too for making me look at this painting.

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