Monday, December 17, 2012

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Abra cadaver, domine non sum dignus, light sigh by the working poor, the province
of a provenance, our God somewhere, to take the louvred penitence and turn it into
smooth joy. These furnishings, fit enough to lie down on and mind drift off to
level tolerance, distinct from an embrace. What legroom toward venite adoremus,
as the season goes. A while goes by, as commonality inverts the stance of individuum.
For now, so many minus signs held rare to the imagined light, leave the small bulb
to a sequence of events. One down, four across, and stitches where we locate
how we were. Invisible restraint, the signature. I want to magnify the Magi, says
the taut child, prone to unrestrained obedience. The DNA encapsulates some
tendencies. Caregivers, bewildered, steer the subject toward a common truth.
That we may be made worthy, to have inflicted on us needs of others. Give, so that
others may live. Hush of light snow following the broad-leaved rust toned autumn,
fallen against frail places to lie still.
Once blue, blue eyes, matched insight, sans froid amid a cool, rust colored sun
Sheila E. Murphy

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