The Only Painter Left Who Understands What Colour Really Is

Marc Chagall:

See, the sound of yellow
is a season of
incendiarism. A blaze taller
than leaves, and genesis impales
martyrdom in the ultimate eye. 

See, the fish with the leaping violins
invades the childhood's continent;
the sun breaks the color explodes,
the motion of all: clown versus
subsequent calf in tear's embrace. 

See, the ordained clock
upon the cheek of its village,
a strange vase unlatched in space.
And love, the mythical-blue,
spins delirium of all colors—
pursuit of the aerial kin. 

And here,
the moon renews the kiss of the evening,
and re-infected in that metamorphosis
of red, the third eye blooms a historic tear.
This is Vitebsk's fever, indelible color,
the flawless purple of grandfather's caftan.

Selwyn S. Schwartz.