chagall is a liar

there is no eggwhite round the sun
nor maple syrup eyes on dancing bride

there blue does not live and breathe
no swirl around the moon with flowers

no groom is so wistful for roses, nor night
so hopeful for a the olive branch or dove

there is no color, except the light
the dark, and everything between

oh wretched painter, paint
but  the truth. the truth, damn you

not such things as tree branches
or the singing footsteps that exit us

each one, left
to right.