Monday, December 31, 2012

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

He is my own magnificat, repaired and shimmering; he dons a white coat. Leaves smooth places smoother. A lean moon stalls the planets from mobility. I watch his sighs, I hear the implications wrangle with removed speech. He may parse the world to come to me. I limit who I have not been to tepid reach. Come hither amid a warm spun weather. Inclement receipts removed from damage is a new fawn. Chaparral near places we have walked, and solo sun filled rain play. In his stance I care fast to a temperate new range of motion. Who have I become in nominative case apart from him? The lazy dimpled day frame in a causeway chaperones our teaching. And his newly shaded grasp takes aim at simple ways of living lanes. I trim the hedge. A jaded say-so fractures taps a place. I live where he has gone. As I am here, I so remain in glyph lane near the breach. His only way of knowing is my voice. A treble carry back affords me in my sleep. I wave apart from how he seems to fly.
Knowing him as proof he lives, the kind of praise his sails through as a witness
Sheila E. Murphy

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