Marc Chagall, “The Fiddler,” 1912


If shadows me, like a dream

like that moon, that dripped
quicksilver in summer heat, gone,

like the fiddler whose melodies
float from rooftops
and across oceans–

a thousand melodies,
some not yet composed,
but heart-held, waiting.

The Oracle gave me this message very quickly this morning, as the sun was coming up.

24 thoughts on “Shadows

  1. That’s lovely! Especially that final stanza.
    How strange (not) that the Oracle gave you this all in a rush at dawn. I think my poem was about you/your fiddler. It’s the same message, follows on from yours.

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