2 poems || Sheila E. Murphy

Winter

Choreography coats experience a white blond
caress as feed light points to metronomic blood beat.

The child scores points beyond pacific ancestry,

aligned with costume and dimensional retreat.

One paints history the color forenoon

until sunlight lathers acreage in the country.

Number the daylight in taut parcels, to endow

them with commensurate depreciation.

A father’s snoring offers safety not withheld

until flowers planted here beside the stone.

Beyond the Nonce

Faith requires a router, would you agree?

Nothing, after all, is certain except signaling.

I like to think rain fractures its own reputation.
Machiavellian urges tinge idea flight.

An unfurnished customer, legs spindly, modestly

unpolished, waits to see what we offer to do.

This mirror has been used before, a palpable image

hovers in the reliable mid-section like a cloth.

Do you take this management theory to be your

umbrage, your lifeline, your exclusive viaduct?