haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Cashmere whiplash while the cello played longhand
toward midrash during every venture. Brash lapels
close by restrained the urge to backtrack as a wide
berth had been taken toward our home. Granules held,
to fill an easy history to fit a mold caress
might be heard in minor key. The lariats came lean
upon the thought shields as discussion halted.
Then mildew was forgotten, and the slivers of duress
seemed whole by way of mental force, equivalent in telling
to an urgency. I take my chapters to a generation with
no letter sweater earned. I sleep against the curve of
a chaste crook in your arm that keeps me safe as
silhouettes held in the natural sleeves of pulp.
We care for how we were and what we might imagine
we will be again.

Symphonic breezeway, luxe simple as the saying
of its name, our way of opening a prior thought

Sheila E. Murphy