MARC CHAGALL
Between the red goat and the blue cock
stands the house of dreams swaying like barley.
The view slowly changes and where a lantern rocked
now rises only a pole high upon which is written
the sign whose meaning is accessible
only to those who are in love. The windows are blue
and one who looks through the glass might believe
that he is in the dead of a short winter. True
the house looks as if it’s making jokes with earth’s
gravity: the table and the chairs seem afloat, berthed
they rock gently, as if made of the bread’s heart.
In the midst of all this, as if in an old lay,
a miracle takes place: in illusion and with no delay
the sleeping lovers to the sky depart.