haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Easy Answers
 
Trills hide melodic threads intended (for the meld). Likewise, vibrato churns reveal
intensity that may elbow away a prior thought. The very act of thinking stipples otherwise
smooth planes. One imagines venturing. One stays still a while growing accustomed to July
trees and the broad shade, proof of passing on our code. Sparks of texture float the conversation
across land's warmth. Appearing just a ahead, amid mistakes. One does not sharpen skills,
one is absorbed into a sphere with potency exceeding one's own earnings. Plenty to discuss,
rework, refrain from mimicking their first performance. Distance from my heart may mean you don't
reside there. Silence edges out that portion of intent that travels with the pack. There seem
wild-leaning decibels that conquer fear of quiet, fear of being seen, of being known. In a nearby
suitcase is a fresh batch of hyperbole, homemade, complete with its own stretchmarks,
not about to be contained.
 
Voice, the flesh of petals that become the flower, still retrievable, inventing their own space
 
 
Sheila E. Murphy