Behind the scant foliage the moon 

Was a silver coin gleaming in Chagall’s

Blue sky. It seemed it had rolled out

Of a child’s piggy bank, except that 

It sent an angel perhaps to steady

The harlequin rider on his precarious

Perch on the small of the horse’s back.

Saddle-less except for what looked

Like a fluffy doormat, circus horse stood

Still except to shake its plumed headdress,

And being well-trained and obedient, 

And all red and golden-maned, it stood

Like a hobbyhorse as its rider lifted

One red-stockinged foot to touch 

His shoulder and ruff ‘round his neck

In execution of a delicate pose. Thus,

Rider and mount must circle their 

Circus ring in a formal trot, clip-clop,

Clippety-clop, without mishap, with all

Their rehearsed and consummate 

Skill, to the admiration and applause 

Of an unseen audience in the silver-coin

Moonlight, clippety-clop, to the ring and

Rhythm of tambourines and castanets, 

As they danced their quirky dance, clip-clop,

In the blue enchantment of Chagall’s midnight.

 

 

Marne Kilates

9 January 2022

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