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Hope Is Chagall's Blue

After L'Écuyère

Hope is Chagall’s blue of all shades

From cyan to indigo, the azure of sky

Suffusing the dark village below, 

The slumber hours are ghosts of window

And foliage barely seen in the past

Midnight blue. Inhabiting the sky, floating

In the blue ether are dream figures:

The Lady perhaps half-awake has 

Sleepwalked with her horse, its mane 

Curled blue, its skin and fur all teal, a lighter 

Blue. Has the clown fallen from 

The saddle-less blue horse? Clad in another 

Shade of melancholy, wearing the Bard’s 

Neck ruff, he carries a pink bouquet for 

For the Lady who maybe ignores him, 

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MarcChagallL'Ecuyere The HorseRider.jpg

Marc Chagall, L'Écuyère,

Her face beatific, upturned to Chagall’s

Sky indigo, her dress of ocean foam and 

Volcano fire flowing beyond the frame― 

Beyond her upraised arm the yellow-green

Moon, a thick crescent, glows in the blue.

In the dream sky, sky of reverie,

Another lady, her face half-yellow like 

The moon glow, peers at the scene

From her window, maybe the frame 

Of a Chagall painting flung among 

The invisible stars, and she clad in pink 

And blue among the azure clouds tinged

With dawn’s ecru. In this horse-riding

Dream, blue is the breath of deep slumber:

In the ultramarine dawn, blue has forgotten

Sorrow in the magic of Chagall’s blue.

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Marne Kilates

1 January 2022

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