Friday, August 5, 2011

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

In the Moment

I learn not to take notes, absorbed into the song. Someone
singing in my eyes no longer hurts. There is moisture enough.
The glint still chaperones contentment. Routinely I divide acceptance
by mutuality. I have been here for miles, no one is coming home.
A crop of soldiers, no new dread. How simple morning was before
I knew the fingering for F#. Now I execute young banjo riffs. Then lute,
and without hesitation, I observe the evidence on staves beginto hold
a melody released from reflex after circling the chapel where
I learned to heal.

Her face upon the screen years after several exhibitions of perfection

Sheila E. Murphy

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