Thursday, May 10, 2012

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Kindness, unrehearsed, will earn you playthings. The
nearest winter takes its place where sets are planted.
Usual displacement falters where a splinter rests its head.
A tissue you requested falls to make a flower. Now I trust
the wingspan of a youth who claims to own the body prior
to its sacrifice. I repair to any corner yet unclaimed,
that I may understand my student who defines me. Look
into this sheaf of leaves, too green to turn. Watch safety
be dissolved. The only reason I have left our common area
is to know why we designed it. What thought can compare
to physical unrest? Only recollection stalls where history
is claimed. Art is destined to remain an embryonic nightmare
no one dares to trace. Explosives threaten to mature, we glisten
in concert with shared fear. The feast of grace notes
plies its trade upon these pretty lambs who've lost our
clothing. How many instances of store-bought proof have we
accumulated at threshold of a meadow?
Shawl, a temperature for walking unaccompanied, a city
very far away from this fresh skin
Sheila E. Murphy

1 comment:

  1. Unplug your computer for a few days or even weeks, you will smile for miles ;-)