haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

I am privy to our picnic basket, where the brie and apple Charlotte live. I want to have 
a sandwich in another life with you. Near streams the cuckoo swells to song. 
A sonnet's worth of linking to some petulance to swat. The kiln is full of undone flings. 
You will administer my depth half without thought. A color might conform to fuel, 
and soothing herbs might prompt a reminiscence. Weather may as well have wintered 
here. The whimsy once imagined capsizes rigid fault lines. Whose arrangement do 
these flowers portend? A live nest bristles with conspicuous thin leaves. Unhinged 
endorphins cozy up to patterns to be made. I fill a feast with quiet forecasts. As though
any of the story could be formulated shared.

Stem cell, Thebes, some thumb tacks, overall a carryall 

Sheila E. Murphy